#sandor clegane fanfiction

[author-morgan]

Title: A Dove and a Hound Rating: T Pairing: Sandor Clegane x fem!Reader Summary: A little dove with broken wings must save her wounded Hound. Or in which Sandor Clegane finds something sweeter than killing. Word count: ~3.7k Warnings: Injury/blood and typical Westerosi shenanigans.

ARYA STARK LOOKS at the bleak landscape around where they had made camp for the night in the northern Riverlands—almost in the Vale. It’s all craggy with sharp boulders and high patches of land, and hardly any trees. The names roll off her tongue as they do every night. The Mountain, The Hound, Cersei, Illyn Payne, Meryn Trant...she doesn’t make it to the next name after hearing the scraping of boots on rock nearby. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Syrio Forel’s words are burnt into her memory. 

"What’re you going on about now, girl?" The rasp of the Hound's voice makes her jump, and she curses him, looking up at the night sky, watching for shadows when she hears the soft noise again.

“We’re being watched,” she tells him, turning on her bedroll to face the Hound, her hand resting on the hilt of Needle.

His laugh cuts through the air—a rough sound that hurts her ears in a strange way. A man like the Hound should never laugh. "Here, in the middle of fucking nowhere?" His scarred face looks all the more hideous with the light of the fire licking at his skin. "Finish your little list, girl, then go the fuck to sleep." Arya frowns and looks around again at the land but sees nothing but boulders and empty plains, but she knows someone is out there. 

Sandor Clegane won’t admit it, but the Stark girl’s warning is the reason he stays up for over half the night. Then, when he’s certain Arya is asleep, he rises from his bedroll and unsheathes his sword, setting off to search between boulders and in the shadows cast by their dwindling campfire. But there’s nothing there. The Hound moves to return to his bedroll, but that’s when he hears quiet cursing and soft crying. And then he finds a woman huddled between two rocks, trying to nurse an injured leg. 

You see the hulking shadow approach too late to muffle your grunts and groans of pain. “Come any closer and I’ll put a fucking arrow through your eye!” You shout. But Sandor Clegane can see the bow in your hand is broken, even if you try to hold the two wooden pieces together to make it seem whole. Then he sees the broken arrow shaft sticking out of your swollen calf, too—the reason for your caterwauling. 

“With a broken bow and the only arrow you got stuck in your leg?” The Hound asks, laughing. “Pay a couple of hundred silver stags to see that done.” Sandor drives his sword into the dirt and awkwardly kneels near you, looking over the wound. He can feel your eyes on him, gaze nigh burning. But the soft white light of the moon softens the sight of his half-burned face. He looks familiar. Like you’ve seen him in passing somewhere—or maybe on the parchments nailed outside taverns noting bounties and the enemies of the Crown. 

You swallow the knot in her throat and look up at him—you might not be able to place who he is, but you know he’s dangerous, a killer. “Well, go on,” you snap, tears stinging in your eyes. “Kill me and get it over with.”

The Hound recoils as though stung by the words—he knows he’s put a lot of people in the ground, but for some damn reason, he can’t stomach the thought of landing the mercy blow now. You close your eyes and wait—no longer fearing death or pain. But the cold bite of steel never comes. Instead, Sandor Clegane lifts you into his burly arms and heads back toward the dying campfire.

Arya’s surprised when the Hound returns and lets you down to rest against the boulder nearest the fire. The girl’s quick on her feet, bringing a half-filled skin of water, and you greedily drink. "Think I'll end up losing it?" You ask the girl—wiping your mouth with a torn sleeve—a glint of humor shining through as you pat your thigh, ignoring the sharp jolt of pain that shoots down to your calf and makes your toes curl. 

“If you’ve gone this long” —Sandor crouches down and looks closer at your injury— “it’ll take more than an arrow to kill you,” he says. It earns him a dry and humorless laugh with a surprising grimness. Given enough time, he thinks he could come to enjoy the company, but right now, he and Arya Stark are already pressed for time, luck, and coin. Neither of them needs the liability of an injured woman—another mouth to feed—on the path to the Eyrie. Be best to leave her come the morning, he thinks, but now that he’s brought you back here, he knows the Stark girl won’t let that happen.

“May I have your name, good ser?” You finally ask—it only seemed proper to know the name of your white knight.  

Sandor Clegane looks at you, and the firelight paints the tangled and twisted mass of scars on his face red—pocking the flesh with craters and cracks. “Not a fucking knight,” he bites back.

And then you can piece everything together—his brute size, the burned half of his face, the posters scattered around the Riverlands. The rumors people whispered are true then, you think. Joffrey’s dog tucked tail and ran while the Blackwater burned. “You’re The Hound.” He grunts. You glance at the girl staring down at you with wide ice-grey eyes. If he’s the Hound then... “You’re Arya Stark.” The girl nods.

The silence that grows between the three of you is heavy and tense. You shift and grimace again. Then your gaze flits back over to the Hound. “Well, are you going to help me get this arrow out my fucking leg or not?” You ask, not understanding why he hauled you back here if he didn’t mean to do something about your current state. “'Cause if you aren’t, I’d sooner you cut the damn thing off or put me out of my misery.”

Sandor moves to you after that and cuts away the fabric of your britches from the arrow, then calls Arya over to set his dagger in the flames—unwilling to go closer. She does as he says, pushing the blade into the hot coals, but then Arya Stark leaps to her feet when she sees Sandor’s hand grip the shaft of the arrow—like he means to tear it from flesh. She knocks his hand away then pushes back on his shoulder, almost hard enough to knock him off balance from where he sits on his haunches. 

“We can’t just pull it out!” She tells the Hound like it should be obvious. But he’s not the one who grew up with a maester in Winterfell or spent time reading any books.  

“Then how you gone get it out, girl?” He asks, gruff and impatient. You glance between the odd pair, wondering how they haven’t killed one another by now. Arya crouches down and prods the swollen and bloody flesh, then without warning, she grips the arrow shaft and breaks off the fletching. Seven hells, you think, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep a wail of pain at bay, I am going to lose my leg. 

“Push it through,” Arya says, remembering the time she watched Maester Luwin remove an arrow from a hunter's shoulder. The Hound grunts and draws a second, smaller dagger, starting to whittle away at the splintered end of the broken arrow shaft. 

Arya goes to fetch more water and brings back a cloth with her before settling down to watch with wide, curious eyes. Blood starts to seep down your calf around the entry and exit of the arrow shaft from being handled so roughly. Satisfied with his woodwork, the Hound steadies your leg against his trunk and starts to pull on the iron-forged arrowhead. 

You grit your teeth together, fingers digging into the soft earth below, as he begins to ease the wooden shaft through gently and quickly as he can. Arya watches your face twist in pain, but somehow, you don’t cry out. It feels like an eternity. Sandor sets the arrow aside and takes the waterskin from the Stark girl, dumping the cool water over your leg to wash away the blood—there’s a cool but welcome sting.

Sandor tosses the empty skin back to Arya. "More water, girl,” he rasps. 

“Bring wine too,” you insist, and the Hound howls with laughter.

“Seven hells,” Arya remarks. You’re just like him. The girl heads off, then comes back with more water and looks at the open wound on your leg with a scrunched-up nose. 

“Needs to be sealed with fire,” Sandor says, sitting back on his haunches, that’s why he already had Arya put a dagger into the flames. They don’t have salves and ointments and teas and brews to keep infection at bay, and despite his fear and hatred of the fire, he knows it’s the best way to clean and seal a wound like this.

“I’ll do it,” Arya offers. Her hands are steady, and the fire and heat don’t bother her like it does the Hound. He nods, and the girl goes to fetch the hot knife. They give you a strip of leather to bite down on, and then the Hound looks away when the girl presses the flat of the blade against your flesh—you do scream then. He knows that pain—that scream—and the putrid scent of burning flesh that jumps into the air. Black dots and white stars dance around in your vision. It hurts worse the second time. But you fight through it. 

Your gaze settles on Arya after a while, struggling to stay awake. “Where are you taking her?” You ask, eyes flitting to Sandor Clegane. The two are an odd traveling party that much is certain—a Hound and a wolf—made even stranger by your sudden arrival. 

“The Vale,” he tells you, “she has an aunt there.” You hadn’t expected a man with his reputation to do something so kind, not even if heavy coin purses were offered as rewards. A hush falls over you, but then the Hound rises and picks up a threadbare blanket from his bedroll. He drapes it over your shoulders, not ungently. “Best get some rest,” he says. “It’ll hurt worse tomorrow.”

THE DAYS ARE both quick and slow to pass, and soon, you’ve lost track of the time since meeting Arya Stark and the Hound—it could have been a few weeks or maybe months. But since that fateful night, your wounds have healed cleanly, and the only reminders of them are a fading scar and the limp in your stride after long days or over strenuous terrain. You remember the first time you insisted on walking instead of riding Stranger—a great black, unruly destrier. When you slowed, Sandor Clegane slung you over his shoulder like a sack of flour before depositing you back on the horse and complaining about the slow pace. Arya Stark was particularly amused by it all. 

Disappointment is all that awaits you all at the Bloody Gate of the Vale. Lysa Arryn is dead, and her young son and named protector, Petyr Baelish, will not accept visitors—not even one of Lysa’s own kin. So at the point of arrowheads and tips of steel blades, the Hound turns back, and you and Arya follow, trekking through the Vale and back to the Riverlands, unsure of what to do and where to go. Arya says they should go north, to the Wall—she has a brother in the Night’s Watch—or across the Narrow Sea.

There’s a small village not far, and you take a handful of silver stags and copper stars in hopes of replenishing your stock of ointments and bandages—especially with the now festering wound on Sandor’s neck, a nasty bite from a rogue—and maybe a decent bottle of wine or ale too. But by the time the sun is beginning to set and you return to Sandor and Arya, they’re not to be found. 

The campsite is empty. The fire still burning. The bedrolls laid out for the coming evening. You look around the craggy landscape, feeling panic seize your heart and stomach—mind racing. “Arya!” You shout, but there is no response from the girl. “Sandor!” And again, there is nothing but silence.

If not for the fading evening sun glinting off tarnished pieces of silver armor, you think you might not have found him. You stumble over to him, kneeling at his side, fearing the worst. But his chest still rises and falls, and he starts when you touch his cheek, hand wrapping around your wrist, leaving a thick smearing of blood. 

There’s something in your eyes, not pity, but he’s not seen that look before —almost doesn’t want to think of what it could be, could mean. Sandor’s grip goes slack, and he grimaces, each breath a ragged rasp. You look over his mangled shoulder, the bruises and scrapes on his face, the muscle-deep cuts on his palm, and his lame leg. These wounds are beyond your skills, and there are not like to be any travelers on this path for days.

The Hound tugs free a dagger from his belt and places it in your hand. "Go on,” he rasps, nodding toward the knife, resigned to his new fate. “Get on with it." The Stark girl wouldn’t put him out of his misery for the hatred she still bore toward him, but maybe you would. 

Your fingers curl around the hilt of the blade, grip tightening, but frozen in place—unwilling and unable to move. "I can't," you breathe, fervidly shaking your head. I won’t. He curses you when you drive the blade into the hard earth and not his heart. Sandor Clegane saved you from certain death, and now you’ve a chance to return the favor.

You wet a strip of cloth and dab it over his bloodied face until he turns his head to look at you. "If you think I'm some wounded pup you can redeem, you're stupider than I thought, woman,” he snarls like an aggrieved dog. 

But you don’t pay any mind to his hateful words. “Be still,” you chide, gently, going to collect the pack of supplies from Stranger’s saddle. The Dornish strongwine eases the pain, and he lets you clean the rest of the cuts and bruises to the best of your abilities —his broken leg, though. You aren’t sure what to do, but you know if something isn’t done soon, Sandor Clegane won’t be using that leg again in this lifetime. You lose track of how many times you have to wander down to the nearby stream. All you know is the limp in your step has come back. By nightfall, the wine and pain claim him, and you’ve said your prayers to the Seven, asking them to spare your poor wounded Hound.

There’s a dim lantern on the dark horizon, steadily drawing nearer and brighter, and then you can hear the rattling of a cart and the braying of a mule. You rise from your post and go to intercept the rickety cart thumping along the winding trail. The mule comes to a halt—the path forward blocked. 

The driver has a kind face, rounded from smiles and wrinkled with wisdom, and eyes that are deep and thoughtful but speak of the horrors of the world. “A lady and her knight,” he muses, sparing a glance at the makeshift medicinal supplies illuminated by faint firelight and the state of the brutish man sleeping—half-dead more like.

“Can you help us?” You ask. “Please.” And the broken plea strikes something deep down in the man’s heart.  

He thinks on it for a moment. “Aye,” the man says, “I can try.” If he couldn’t, the others on the Quiet Isle could—especially the Elder Brother. His dusty brown robes dust across the rocky ground as he goes to the Hound’s side. It takes all your strength combined to lift Sandor Clegane into the cart—even with the weight of his armor gone. Then you clamber to the front of the cart next to Sandor, letting his head rest in your lap, and with a snap of the reins, the mule walks on again, heading south along the bumpy road—it would be a long night.

Weary and exhausted, you look between the Hound and the driver. “Who are you?” 

“You can call me Ray,” the kindly man says. “I’ll take you both to the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother can help.” You’ve heard tales of the isle—where men go to atone for their sins and take vows of silence. Some even say those who reside in the Bay of Crabs live in a world unlike the one ravished by war and pain. Brother Ray can see the growing trepidation on your expression. It’s nigh common knowledge women are not allowed to dwell on the Quiet Isle. “Won’t force you and your knight to be parted,” he tells you. 

“He’s not a knight,” you murmur, eyes trailing from the road ahead to Sandor, knowing he doesn’t like being called a knight—and for good reason. 

“No, but it seems he’s your knight,” Ray says with a chuckle, sparing a wayward glance back at you and the Hound. You flush at the thought and turn your gaze to Sandor, his head resting on your thigh.

A MONTH PASSES and Sandor is as well as he’ll ever be. The damage done to his leg makes him limp after long distances or strenuous tasks, but no one would be able to say such injuries made the Hound a feeble man. Even now, you’ve never seen a man split firewood with so much power and anger. Sometimes, you wonder if he hates you for not ending it when he pleaded for the blade’s mercy. But on the day when the brothers let you see him again, he wore a fleeting smile, soft and weak—the first time you’d seen such a sight. 

Storms roll in for the night, and lightning flashes through the window—thunder rattling your featherbed. You pull the covers tighter, squeezing your eyes shut, praying for sleep to come. It feels childish to be afeared of a storm, but it’s a reminder of the night the Lannister men destroyed your home and family and put an arrow in your leg. Rousing from the uneasy rest, you pull on your dressing robe and wrap the wool and linen blanket around your shoulders before setting off in search of company. 

His bed is empty, and you frown. Disheartened, you turn back only to bump into a solid wall of flesh and muscle. No man his size had a right to move around so quietly. “What are you doing awake, little dove?” Sandor asks, and you’re unable to meet his gaze with your flushed cheeks as you search for a valid answer. “Can’t sleep?” He surmises, and grateful he spake first, you nod sheepishly. The hand that wraps around your wrist is warm and calloused, yet his touch is light—as though you’re some bird with a broken wing. But wordless, you climb onto the bed next to Sandor, still huddled under your blanket, but not alone, and even with the storm raging outside, within these walls with him, you’re safe. 

The morning light breaks through the small window—only glowing embers remain in the hearth, not enough to chase away the chill in the air. You wake to find yourself alone, and it sends a strange pang of sadness through your heart. Making your way back to your chambers, you change into a plane shift and stride from the cottage to find him—the wet grass tickling the soles of your feet as you head down a winding path toward the water’s edge.

Sandor is sitting down on the rocky shore of the island, his dusty brown cloak fluttering in the wind. You go to him and sit on the weathered rock next to him. The morning is cool, and the spray of waves breaking against rocks in the bay kisses your cheeks. Wordlessly, the Hound pulls his cloak free and drapes it around your shoulders. In comfortable silence, you pull the coarse material tight and rest your head against his arm, looking out over the water and the clear blue sky—as though the Old Gods had not unleashed their wrath upon the land last night.

After a long while, Sandor rises, knowing it’ll be time to head to the Sept and see what tasks the Brothers need help with today. You’re quick to follow after him, but before he can start up the rocky path again, you brush your hand against his with all the timidness of a mouse, daring to have a lingering touch as you gather the nerve to ask something that’s been festering in the pit of your stomach, in the darkest parts of your mind and the deepest parts of your heart. You take both his hands—rough and twice the size of your own—and look up at the Hound. "Sandor,” you breathe, his name like a birdsong in your voice, “will you kiss me?"

He laughs—thinking you are playing him for a fool. No sane woman would ever wish to have his touch or his kiss. “With this ruined mouth?” He mocks. But the next jape dies on the tip of his tongue when you fist your hand into his woolen tunic, hauling him down with all your strength to just the right height where if you stand on the tips of your toes, you can kiss him. And you do. Sandor is surprised at first, but his hard exterior fades, and then a strong arm curls around your middle, hoisting you up and then off the ground entirely. You pull back for only a quick second and smile for him.

“Little dove,” he rasps when you move your hands to hold his face, thumbs stroking over his cheeks—one marred by the flame—and down into his thick, wiry beard. He half expects to find a shred of fear or disgust in your eyes, but there isn’t any. There never had been. You kiss him again, softer and sweeter this time, and he returns it in full. 

Reluctant to part, he places you back on the ground but is quick to pull you into his side and hold you close in the golden hour of the morning. And for the first time since he can remember, Sandor Clegane has a handful of happy memories, and perhaps, in the end, he's found something even sweeter than killing.

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[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

The Doe That Chases the Hound

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader

Warnings: none

Words: 5123

Summary: Normally in a hunt it was a hound’s duty to chase down deer. You went against the natural order of things. This time it was the doe who sought after the hound.

Consider this a continuation of A Good, Mean, Dog

Tommen rushed behind you, clinging to your back shaking like a leaf. It was no wonder he was hiding behind you, he was terrified of the Hound. Smiling gently at the sight of the enormous man your hand goes behind you to smooth Tommen’s golden hair soothingly. The Hound was completely unfazed by the youngest Baratheon’s cowering form and continues on his way only to stop and give you a nod.

“My lady.” His gruff voice rumbles as he addresses you. After the day he had saved you, the two of you shared simple words between one another but nothing more. It was like Sandor was somewhat afraid of getting close to you. It was like Sandor was somewhat afraid of getting close to you. You didn’t force any interactions knowing a man like Sandor needed to be eased in. From the way he always acted around you you guessed he wasn’t much used to a young maid like yourself willingly spending time with him.

Either way you always had a smile for him. He had yet to use the offer you had proposed and you found yourself actually longing for his kiss, even his touch. “Sandor. Where is that darling brother of mine? Surely you wouldn’t leave his side.” Tommen fidgets behind you wanting to leave. You continue to pet his hair lovingly with hopes pacify him.

“Lessons with the maester.” Sandor grunts, his eyes casually noticing Tommen behind you. He sees the fear in his green eyes. Bowing shortly he promptly leaves. You hear Tommen release a shuddering breath.

“Sweet lion.” you murmur and brush your fingers against his cheek. “The Hound isn’t as scary as he seems. Just be lucky that he’s on our side.”

“H-He never smiles though. . . . A-A-And his face. . .”

As elegantly as you could you kneel in front of him. “Ssh my sweet lion. No more of that. Does a lion fear a hound?” Even though he was Baratheon, him and your other siblings looked more so Lannister unlike you. You may have had Lannister eyes and your mother’s beauty, but you had your father’s dark mane of hair. The lion of Lannister better suited your younger siblings. They were golden all the way just like the Lannister sigil amongst red.

He shakes his head, mop of golden hair bouncing as he did so. You kiss the corner of his mouth and stand up, going back to holding his hand. “Let’s go. You have your lessons to attend to.”

“You speak out of line.”

You and Tommen pause outside of your father’s room. The both of you had been looking for your mother and was informed she had been heading toward the king’s chambers. His doors were closed with your Uncle Jaime standing guard. Normally when Jaime was outside you would hear moans and other obscene noises from the other side. Instead you heard your parents arguing yet again. You’re about to steer Tommen away until your mother speaks up.

“I will not have my eldest daughter going to the north. Period. Whether it be Starks or Boltons, I will not have it. Nor will she be marrying that dirty old man from the Twins.”

“Seven hells woman! Then who is she to marry?!” Robert Baratheon exclaims. It was clear that they had been talking about it for quite a while from the frustration biting in his voice.

“You can do better.” Cersei hisses. “She deserves better. She’s your first born.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you stare at the massive doors that blocked you from seeing the interaction. You catch your Uncle Jaime looking at you before he puts a finger to his lips; the same gesture he always did when you passed by your father’s room and heard something you weren’t supposed to. All you can manage to do is gawk and continue to not breathe.

“The Tyrells of High Garden have two unmarried sons. Their wealth would be beneficial to us. There are also some Lannister cousins of Casterly Rock and Lannisport that would also prove a good fit for (y/n). Any good house in the west.”

Huffing you hear a loud clinking noise, possibly caused by a flagon of wine bumping into the rim of your father’s goblet. “The Tyrells have one cripple son and the other is to be a knight. She will marry whoever I say. Maybe giving her to Oberyn Martell will get him off my ass about his sister.”

Your father really didn’t care what became of you. Jaw ticking you walk away hurriedly with Tommen in front of you. You didn’t want to hear anymore. There was only one man you dared to fantasize about being with. The only other male besides your Uncle Tyrion and your sweet Tommen who even showed you the slightest bit of warmth. A man everyone feared, a man who could protect you from any harm. Yet he was sworn to protect your rotten brother. You would only ever be a silly little princess to him. You had come to terms with your infatuation with the Hound after you offered him a kiss. It grew worse every day when you saw his towering frame following close behind the smaller one of your bratty brother. Something about the hardness of his face made you shiver in a good way. You remember how close you were to him when he saved you from your rampaging horse. How he picked you up so easily. You wanted his arms around you again. You wanted him to claim you as his and demand your father to allow a marriage. But those were just dreams. Silly, childish, dreams. You knew how this world worked. There was no way you could fool yourself. Sandor Clegane was a rough man and wouldn’t be into such romantic notions nor would he ever ask your king father for your hand in marriage. Robert would marry you off to the highest bidder. He required money to squander on whores and alcohol. Your happiness meant nothing to him, you had always known that. At least your mother cared about you. She would fight for your happiness. Cersei was still a woman though. In the end your father had the final say on all matters.

“(y/n), what were they talking about?” your brother asks innocently. You held onto his tiny hand, it was all you could do to prevent yourself from crying.

Forcing a smile you explain to him that they were choosing your future husband.

At that Tommen beams up at you. “You’re getting married?!”

You laugh at his excitement. “Some day.”

“You’ll be the most prettiest bride!”

Utterly endearing you bend over slightly and kiss his golden crown. “Will you be the one to give me away, sweet lion?”

Lush green eyes sparkle like the jewels your mother loved to wear. You wished a man could look at you with such adoration the same way your baby brother did. Instead you were met with lust filled gazes rather than adoration. Many wanted to fuck you but not love you. Men just wanted you for your body and title.

“Hopefully my husband will be as sweet as you.” You sadly muse knowing that it was very unlikely.

“And I want my wife to be just like you!”

You prayed that at least Tommen and Myrcella were set up with people who would treat them right. They were pure and good hearted, they deserved to be happy.

You saw him off to his lessons with his maester and planned to go see if your Uncle Tyrion was available. Just as you turn around though you come face to face with Ser Jaime Lannister. Apparent that he had followed you and Tommen you couldn’t think of why. He had always shown disdain for you despite you having done nothing to receive his irk.

You chew on your bottom lip before taking another step closer. “Ser Jaime, what can I do for you?”

Heavy gaze narrows toward you that has you clamming up under his scrutiny. Then he smiles. “I remember when Cersei was told she was to marry Robert Baratheon. The same age as you too. She had wanted to marry the Targaryen prince when she was younger but. . . well, we all know how that story ended.”

He had never spoken this much to you, not in all the years you had been alive. It made you nervous. “And? What did my mother do?”

“Not much she could do consider that Robert had just won the Iron Throne and declared king of all of Westeros. She would be his queen. Not really something to protest against.”

“I don’t have any hope of my father finding me a match like that.” Mumbling you knew hesitantly dart your eyes over to your uncle. What was that expression on his face? Remorse? Pity? You couldn’t tell.

Jaime shakes his head. “No. I don’t believe so.”

Sighing you nod. “That’s the way things are I suppose. . .”

“You’re a lot like your mother.” He suddenly says. “Both of you are stubborn, but strong as hell. Whatever happens, I believe you’ll get through it just as she has. You are her daughter.”

His words make you smile. “Thank you. I believe this is the first time we’ve had a heart to heart.”

The man known as the Kingslayer chuckled and playfully shook his head. “This is the first time we’ve really spoken.” Slowly he reaches out toward your dark hair and gingerly pats your head. “You’ll be fine. You’re every bit of your mother. Strong, stubborn, even scary as hell. But you’re also sweet with a kind heart. Any man would be lucky to have you as their wife. They’ll fall in love with you, I’m sure.”

Your chest clenched. “What if they don’t? What if it’s like my mother and father?”

Eyes hardening he holds onto your shoulders. “Then give him hell or your mother most likely will. You know how much she loves her children. And I’d be willing to break a few limbs if he proves to be ungallant.”

Grinning you actually feel a little better. “Thanks Uncle Jaime. Or. . . Ser Jaime I suppose.”

Gently smiling he chucks you underneath your chin and continues on his way, his cloak trailing behind him as he walks down the hall and out of view. Despite his kind and even comforting words though you couldn’t let go of the image of the man you really wanted. Jaime had claimed that any man would fall in love with you, could that possibly imply Sandor as well? Not that it mattered. It would just complicate things more if Sandor did happen to reciprocate your feelings. Which he most likely didn’t.

Chewing on your bottom lip you curl your fingers into your gown. You were your mother’s daughter. You were strong and clever just like Cersei Lannister. You would do what needed to be done despite your feelings. You were a Baratheon, princess of Westeros.

*

It wasn’t exactly what he had thought of doing when he was younger, but Sandor Clegane hadn’t been given many opportunities to do anything else with his life except serve the Lannister family. It was what the Cleganes had always done ever since his grandfather’s hounds saved Lord Tywin’s own father from a lion. Following around Joffrey Baratheon had it’s perks though; one being the pay was exceptional and he had a roof over his head. He did his job well too, everyone was terrified of him because of his face and his skill with a sword. He supposed he should thank Gregor for that at least if nothing else. He’d thank him someday by plunging his sword into Gregor’s throat.

Trailing behind the young prince like a looming shadow something caught his attention; or rather someone. Sandor peers over the stone balustrade into the courtyard that was lush with shrubbery and trees. It was a laugh that had drawn his attention. A musical laugh he had heard plenty times before, one that he held onto so that he could remember it before he slept.

The eldest Baratheon twirled around with her younger, blonde haired sister. Many times (y/n) Baratheon was all smiles, full of politeness that was taught to her at a very young age. There was a maturity in her emerald eyes though that was beyond her years. She genuinely smiled at Sandor which would always catch the large man off guard. He remembered how she looked at him when she offered him a kiss. She had suggested it so easily. For a minute there he swore that his heart had stopped functioning. She couldn’t have been serious. Someone as beautiful as (y/n) Baratheon wouldn’t want to kiss someone as hideous as Sandor Clegane. (y/n) could have any man she wanted; she was a bloody princess after all! Why would she bother with an old, mean, dog, like Sandor? He had done nothing good in his life to warrant any affection from any woman let alone a princess. Yet there she had stood, bathed in the gentle candle light of the corridor, as she asked him if he would like a kiss as a reward. She had looked almost surreal in that torch glow, a fleeting image with eyes as bright as wildfire. A part of him had urged him forward, to take her face in his large, rough, hands and kiss her like no other man ever has. Kiss her and never let her go. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Couldn’t bring himself to taint her. Hands that were covered in blood did not deserve to touch something as pure as her, no matter how much he wanted to. Much to his shame he had day dreamed about fucking her, as he supposed many men did. Undressing her and letting his hands roam her soft body and try to memorize every detail. Kiss those lips that she had so readily offered up to him. It wouldn’t be all about his pleasure though. He wanted to feel her squeeze around him, whether it be his cock or finger and hear her moan for him and him alone. Sandor wanted to bring her pleasure that she had never known.

That of course would never happen. King Robert would marry her off to some wealthy lord and Sandor would never see her again. So every time he managed to catch himself daydreaming he would stop immediately. Daydreaming would get him nowhere. A man like him didn’t daydream. Perhaps young maidens, but not a big, hard, man like Sandor. Daydreaming had stopped for him when his brother thrusted his head into the fire and permanently scarred him for life.

“Stupid things women are.” Joffrey muses. “Even those you’re related to. My mother and Myrcella, even (y/n). She thinks she has the authority of a man. She’ll see her wrong doings once I claim the throne. But she might not be my problem by that time. She should be married off by now. Don’t know what’s taking father so long to get rid of her.”

Like always he kept his mouth shut when Joffrey spoke about his sister like that despite it grating on his nerves. When he caused (y/n)’s horse to go out of control and nearly throw the young princess off, Sandor had half a mind to strangle him. He had always known that his charge was a cruel boy but to purposefully put one’s own sibling in danger was something else. Cruel and mean, just like Gregor. The king and queen did nothing to try and rid Joffrey of these detestable traits. They always turned a blind eye, the queen spoiling him even more. They would end up ruining him further.

Sandor was just a sworn sword though. There was nothing he could do except follow Joffrey around. He hated that more than anything else.

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I convinced father to marry her off to you?” Joffrey chuckled at the thought. “Imagine her face! No prince charming but a dog!”

He stopped paying attention to what was coming out of his wormy mouth and remembered (y/n)’s alluring, striking eyes, that fluttered prettily. The more he recalled her face, the more he was certain that she had been serious about the kiss.

“Not even a kiss from a maiden fair?”

Maybe he had been a fool not to accept it. Who knew if he would ever get the chance again. A moment after that he had thought himself gallant, chivalrous even. He had to remind himself that he was no knight. Just a dog. (y/n) had said a dog was better than a knight though. He couldn’t see how that was possible.

Before continuing on their way Sandor looked over the balustrade one last time and by chance (y/n) had looked up at the same exact moment. Coal black meeting the brilliant flames of wildfire. She smiled up at him and waved. Not for the first time, Sandor felt like she had stolen the breath right out of him. He couldn’t bare to look at her any longer lest he get burned.

*

Their heads had grown heavy against your shoulders after a while, indicating that they had fallen asleep. Gently you close the book you had been reading and bask in the love you felt for you two younger siblings. Why had Joffrey not turned out like them? Sweet and gentle. Sweet and gentle they may be, yet Myrcella was beginning to show signs of being smart and resilient as well. She would make a man very happy, you were sure.

You sighed and leaned against your bed frame. They didn’t offer you much room to move, keeping you trapped between them. Delicately you brush a stray strand of gold away from Myrcella’s face. What was she dreaming about? Maybe about the dragons you had been ready to them before they fell asleep. Tommen sometimes thought they were scary, but not Myrcella. She was fascinated with them just like you. Maybe you would bring her back a small skull from the cellar room that your uncle had shown you. A bit of Targaryen blood did run in the Baratheons after all.

You hadn’t realized that your mother had been present in your room for a while now. She was smiling at the sight of the three of you. You knew nothing made her happier than seeing her children together.

“Shall I get someone to bring them to their beds?” She whispers.

“No. Let them sleep. They’ll wake soon.”

Cersei quietly makes her way to the edge of your bed and carefully perches herself on the edge. No matter what she did, Cersei was the perfect lady and did everything elegantly. Even sitting seemed like an artform when Cersei did it. “When I look at you with them I start to imagine how wonderful a mother you’ll be.”

Your throat closes and you suddenly find your siblings closeness to be suffocating. “A bit too soon to be thinking about my children.”

“Not at all.” Her voice is sad, her eyes even more so. “(y/n)-”

“I know.” You close your eyes and focus on your breathing. “I know mother. I. . . overheard you and father today. I didn’t mean to, but when I heard that you were talking about my betrothal. . . can you blame me?”

“Of course not.” she sighs and reaches out to hold your hand. “I know this kind of thing isn’t easy. I myself struggled with being married off.”

“You ended up marrying a king though.”

Cersei laughs bitterly. “Yes and you see how our marriage is. You’re smart (y/n), you should know already that things don’t always turn out the way you want them to. No matter who you end up with though I want you to be strong. I know you’ll be strong.”

“Uncle Jaime told me the same thing. And here I thought he never liked me.”

“Why would you think that?”

You shrug. “He’s always been very cold toward me before. I don’t know. Maybe because I don’t look like a Lannister.”

Cersei squeezes your hand in a comforting manner. “My love, your uncle loves you as he does your brothers and sister. You are his blood. Blood means everything to us.”

“Mother. . . did you love anyone before you were to be married to Rob- I mean, father?”

Her eyes try to pry into your true meaning of your question. “Yes.”

You squirm a bit between your siblings. “What did you do when you found out you couldn’t be with them?”

She lets go of your hand and looks away. You had never asked your mother so much about her personal life. By the way she was acting you could only guess it was a sensitive topic. Maybe she still loved that person even now. “I did what I had to do for our family.” That was all she was going to tell you.

You let the subject go.

Something you wished you could do with your affections for the Hound. You tried be logical and list the reasons why you liked him so much. The list went on and on, even beyond the fact that he had saved you. You started thinking back before that had happened. Yes, there was always something there. Perhaps your budding womanhood and hormones played into it. He was the closest man to you that you weren’t related to. There were much younger guards and more attractive as well, but you felt nothing for them. They couldn’t compare to Sandor. Not to you at least. Even the most handsome knight couldn’t get your heart to flutter. They couldn’t arouse you the way Sandor did with just one look at you.

“What are you doing all by yourself?”

You tell your heart to shut up as it pounds frantically in response to Sandor’s voice. Briefly looking over your shoulder you find him standing a few feet away from you in the corridor. Turning your face back to the window you whisper “My father and mother have been discussing who I am to marry.” You don’t know why you’re telling him, he probably didn’t care one lick. “I mean I expected as much, it’s always been my fate, but hearing them barter over me like I’m some animal is a little disheartening.” You shrug. “Oh well.” You don’t know if he’s still there until you hear his feet thump against the ground as he advances. You scold yourself for spewing all that on him. “Sorry. Probably boring, huh?”

“And who would you marry? Some handsome knight or lord. Is that what you’re worried about? Them sending you off to marry someone hideous?”

Shocked to hear the slight annoyance in his voice you clam up slightly. You couldn’t admit to him that that was slightly what you were worried about. He probably already thought you were vain and spoiled like your mother.

“Someone could be beautiful and still be cruel.” You murmur and turn to look up at him. Many thought your brother Joffrey to be handsome but not all handsome men are kind. He had proved to be mean and vicious. “That’s not my main concern. It’s the thought of being sent to a complete stranger. He could be fat for all I care. Just as long as he’s nice. . . I don’t want to be in a marriage like my mother’s. I. . .”

Biting your lip you shake your head and start to walk away.

“You what?”

You turn with sullen eyes and a hint of redness to your cheeks that you didn’t want to admit. “I want love. I want to be loved. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I found myself wanting it. There’s a man here who I have found has total claim to my heart and I’ll never get to tell him nor will I ever get to kiss him despite me having offered my lips to him. I’ve come to terms with the fact that he doesn’t return my affections.” Carefully you steal a look of Sandor, not knowing if he had put two and two together. Your heart raced at the fact you had confessed about your feelings for him.

Wanting to hold your ground as he stared at you you couldn’t help but fidget a bit. Why wasn’t he saying anything?

*

She couldn’t have meant him. But he couldn’t deny it any longer unless she went around offering kisses to other guards which Sandor didn’t think she did. She wasn’t that kind of lady. (y/n) did have feelings for him. He was reeling at the sudden realization. His brain couldn’t even process it.

Sandor noticed the slight fear that washed over her face as he didn’t say anything. What could he say? He’d never been in such a situation before.

He turned on his heel and walked away.

*

You didn’t know what you had been expecting. He had probably grown tired of your complaining. No matter what you tried to tell yourself you couldn’t help the devastation that ripped you apart from the inside. It was hard to breathe as you turned away as well and took small steps, your hand clinging to your chest as you bite down on your lip and try not to cry. A foolish little girl you were.

You heard Sandor growl loudly from the other side of the hall “Fuck it.”

A strong hand twirled you around to face him and you could only stare wide eyed at him. Considering you were much smaller than him he had to lean down considerably to kiss you roughly. Exactly as you had imagined a kiss from him would be like you tilt your face ever so slowly to deepen it. Urgent and needing for all of you, something you had never felt from anyone. You had never felt so wanted by anyone. Sure you had seen the glances men gave you, but you never wanted them. You wanted Sandor though. And it so happened he wanted you too. Whether it was purely lust or he truly loved you, you didn’t care at the moment. You wanted more of him. Warmth licked at the walls of your belly as your hands roam up his chest and to his large shoulders. Once the two of you pulled away you were light headed and swimming with desire. Sandor looked at you with half lidded eyes. You had never seen such a gentle look on his face. Even when he had saved you his face had still been stern.

“Why do you want an old dog like me?” He suddenly asks with a rasping voice. “I’m nothing pretty to look at and I’ve killed people.”

Admitting, your hands gingerly move from his shoulders to cup his scruffy, burned, face. You gave him plenty of time to pull your hands away if he didn’t want to be touched. But he let you caress his face. “I’ve asked myself that question for quite a while.” You notice him shudder under your feather light touch. Had he ever experienced a gentle touch before? Surely his mother must’ve held and kissed him when he was younger. You realized you knew so little about him besides the fact that his brother had shoved his face into a fire at such a young age. Sandor’s gaze is unrelenting but you find it so comforting. “Even before you saved me from Blue Moon. I had always assumed it was a stupid little crush because you were the only kind man around me other than my Uncle Tyrion or Tommen.”

That makes him scoff. “Kind?”

You nod. “Yes, kind. All other men feign at being kind in hopes of me letting them under my skirt. My father doesn’t care for me and I know for certain Joffrey would rather have me dead. But you. . . You were different. True, you’re rough and a brute. Terrifying to everyone. That’s what your brother made you though. That’s what you have to do to survive in this world. I found myself admiring you too. Among other things. . .” Blushing you retrieve your hands from his face.

“You’re a weird one.” Sandor grumbles, averting his dark gaze from you. You note the hint of shyness that made his movement more coy.

Everything about him was endearing to you and the more you fell in love with him, the more you discovered about the towering man. He was insecure, self-conscious, and unknowingly craving a gentle human touch. Sandor was completely perplexed by your affections and you realized he might be even more so confused of his own feelings. The fact he had walked away at first revealed to you that he had been trying to restrain himself. Whatever he felt for you though was too much for him to maintain control over. You still feel pressure on your lips and you knew that you wanted more. Ever the greedy princess, you wanted all of Sandor Clegane. You didn’t know how to go about enticing him for more though. Getting him to kiss you had been like pulling teeth. You tried to think what any other woman would do. You tried thinking what your mother would do and the answer was simple: she would demand it. Could you be brazen enough to demand that Sandor join you in your bed? You were still so young and didn’t know much about that area of life. He would possibly think you still a child if you mucked things up.

You didn’t want him to think you loose though. Instead you balanced on your tippy toes to kiss him again. Sandor growled as he wrapped an arm around your waist. The only sound was the echoing of your kisses and the soft gasp that you let out when he pressed you against the wall. His coarse beard was rough against your face, but you took pleasure from it and in all the rough affection he delivered to you. Arousal made your legs weak as his large hands deftly roam over your body and slightly hikes up your leg to wrap around his waist. Sandor was fully supporting your body now as you were completely lifted off of the ground. Nose brushing against your’s, his lips ghost over your swollen ones as you pant slightly.

“You’re a troublesome girl.” He roughly tells you but the look in his eyes tells you something differently.

Normally in a hunt it was a hound’s duty to chase down deer. You went against the natural order of things. This time it was the doe who sought after the hound.

[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.”

[vikingstoner69]

Fandom: game of thrones

Pairing: sandor/reader

Summary: you have known sandor for years and have loved him for years now you finally give in.

---------------------

You looked out the window of your chambers and saw the water on fire and your heart dropped. You knew sandor was out there somewhere. 

"It's not a good night to be alone" you jump and spin around seeing sandor in the far corner of the room. He looked shaken but unharmed. 

"Sandor! What are you doing here?" You ask in a rush and he stands up and walks closer to you and looks out the window. 

"I'm getting out of here, I could take you with me" he says looking down at you and you bite your lip. You had feelings for Sandor you always had even before he became the king's guard dog. 

"Yes i'll go with you" you say grabbing things you would need and you both snuck off into the darkness. 

-5weeks later-

You grin and look around at the small room and the large bed as Sandor undoes his armor and you see the gash on his shoulder. 

"Get cleaned up and I'll take care of that so it won't get infected" you say leaving the room and going to the bar while he washed. After some time you go back up to the door and find him shirtless and clean. 

"There is water left," he says, not looking at you. Sandor takes a seat and you grab your bag and set it down next to him and step between his legs.

"I already took my bath while you were drinking, thank you by the way for bringing me with you" you smile looking at his brown eyes as you clean and stitch his wound. Sandors hand rubs lightly on your hip and you look down at his lips.

"I told ya I'd keep ya safe" he grunts and you have the urge to kiss him. you push that thought away and wipe the blood off his shoulder. 

"That you did, I know we used to fight back when we were kids but can you teach me? I don't want to be totally useless" you grin and he grunts looking up at you. 

"Fine we'll find you a blade" he says standing up and putting his shirt on and then his armor back and you watch his every move. 

"Alright well I'm off to bed" you tell him as you crawl in the big bed and close your eyes. 

-Later that night-

"SANDOR!" You scream sitting up straight in bed and coming face to face with sandor. 

"Your fine little tiger, just a bad dream" he says somewhat softly and you look in his brown eyes and you feel the tears run down your face. You bite your lip and hold back a sob and he sighs. Sandor moved you over and you clung to him your nightmare playing over and over again in your head. Sandor laid back on the bed and you curled into him. 

"They killed you" you say softly into the darkness. You feel his fingers lightly stroke your arm. You sniffle and wipe your eyes and cuddle closer to him. 

"It was just a dream, no one has killed me yet" he chuckles in the darkness, the full moon shining in through the window. 

"I don't think you understand sandor! I literally just watched you die! I literally just felt my heart rip open when I realized I couldn't save the man I love!" You snap in a rant not realizing what you said till it was too late the words were out now and there was no going back. 

"You don't love me girl you just think you do" he growls standing up and leaving you alone in the bed that now felt too big.

"Why is that so hard to believe! An don't you dare say anything about how you look?" You yell sitting up on your knees in the bed. Sandor looks back at you and before you blink he is back In front of you. 

"You're playing a dangerous game girl" he growls and you feel your body heat up, your heart sped up. 

"I don't care sandor! I don't care if you have killed and done awful shit! Guess what? So have I! I've loved you since we were teenagers!" You snap, losing your balance on your knees you start to fall forward into his chest but he catches you and you look up at him. Sandor looked tore, getting back your balance you bring yourself closer to him and he sighs. 

"What do you want? Huh? Want me to fuck you is that it? Make you mine? Trust me girl you don't want that" he growls his eyes have darkened and his body is tense and you bite your lip. 

"That's exactly what I want sandor clegane! I want you to fuck me! I want you to make me yours" you tell him honestly you feel his body vibrate as he growls and one hand goes into your hair brining your face closer to his. 

"Best be sure little tiger once I fuck you then your mine" he says gruffly. You bite your lip and try to calm your heart rate. 

"I want this sandor, please" you beg softly, he growls and crashes your mouth to his in a rough hard kiss making you moan. You take the time to run your hands on his chest and up his arms you could feel his body tense under your touch till finally your hands were in his hair. Sandor pulls back long enough to rip your top off exposing bare breasts. 

"I thought about doing this a thousand times" he growls, taking each breast in each hand and then rolling the nipple making you moan and your back to arch. Sometime after you went to sleep he had taken his armor back off leaving him in his shirt and pants. You tugged on his shirt and gave a growl when you couldn't get his shirt off making him chuckle. 

"You're not the only one who has thought of doing things" you smirk when he pulls his hands away from your breasts to take his shirt off and you lick your lips. You push him back a bit and stand up taking off your pants leaving you naked before him. 

"Minx" he growls, reaching out to touch you but you step back. You place a hand on his strong hard chest and you turn him to the bed. Sandor sits down on the bed and you straddle him. His hands go to your ass and hips and you grind down on the bulge and you moan. 

"I have thought about how good fucking you would feel so meny times" you moan before kissing him deeply. Your hands roam his body making him groan. Finally you pull back from the kiss as you undo his pants and you slowly pull his hard cock out. You slide down his hard body to the floor in front of him on your knees and you look up at him before sucking the head of his cock. 

"Seven hells!" He groans, his hand going into your hair and the other holding himself up as you suck him. You moan around his cock and take him as deep as you can, making yourself gag a bit before coming up for air. 

"I want you to cum down my throat" you tell him, sucking the tip and moaning at the taste of him. Your clit throbs so you use your hand and slowly rub your clit and grind down on your hand. Sandor grabs your hair and fucks your throat and mouth. 

"Fuck that mouth of yours, want me to fill it full? You gonna swallow what I give you?" He growls feeling so close to cumming in your hot wet mouth. You moan and suck hard you feel his body tense and then his cum is squirting down your throat. You moan and suck taking everything he had to to give you till he pulls you off your knees and back to straddling him. You show him your tongue and then swallow and then show him again. 

"Fuck me sandor, fuck me hard" you tell him grinding down on his hard cock. Sandor grabs your hip and flips you on your back. Sandor hovers over you and grinds up into you making you cry out. 

"Don't hold back any of those pretty sounds, I wanna hear what I do to you" he growls rubbing your clit making you moan and your hip thrusts up. 

"Don't tease me, fuck please don't tease" you beg at his light touch. Your body felt like it was on fire. You were so hot and wet for him. Sandor slowly pushes his thick finger deep inside you, making you moan.

"So tight an warm" he groans, you cling to his arm as he fucks you with his finger adding another finger making you feel so full. Sandor fucks you on his fingers as he rubs your clit making you moan and cry out as you cum hard on his fingers, his eyes never leaving your face. Slowly pulls his fingers out of you and you watch as he sucks them clean making your cunt clench. 

"Fuck me sandor please" you beg. Sandor spreads your legs wider so he could fit and you look up at him your hands running up his arms to his shoulders and down his back, making him growl and thrust frowned hard. His cock going deep inside you making you both moan at the feeling. 

"Fuck your so tight!" He groans feeling how tightly you felt around him, your nails digging into his back and shoulders.  

"You feel so good sandor more please!" You moan thrusting your hips up and his hips snaps into you hard and you cry out as he fucks you hard and deep. 

"You're mine" he growls sucking and biting your neck as he fucks you into the bed. You moan leaning up you kiss him deeply biting his lip and flipping him over so you are on top taking him even deeper than before.

"Oh fuck! You're so deep" you moan your head falling back as you slam down on his cock riding him roughly. Sandors hands touch every inch of you. 

"That it ride my cock" he groans as he watches you. You moan your nails leaving marks on his chest. You felt so close to cumming.  Sandor grunts and you're on your back once again with him taking you deeply. 

"I'm so close" you moan, clinging to him your nails leaving marks down his back making him groan and you tighten around him from the sounds he was making. 

"Come on then" he grunts pounding into you he leans down and kisses you sloply biting your lip. 

"Sandor!" You cry out as you cum hard around him. He grunts and his body tenses and he cums hard. 

"Seven hells" he pants resting his head on yours, you both trying to catch your breaths. Once sandor gets his breath he rolls off you laying on his back and you look over at him. 

"Did you mean it? You pant and he grunts and looks at you. 

"The hell you on about?" He asks, looking at you. You get on your knees so your looking down at him. 

"You said I'm yours, did you mean it?" You ask looking at his brown eyes and he leans up on his elbow and grabs the back of your head and crashes his mouth to yours kissing you deeply making you moan kissing him back just as deeply. 

"Aye your mine" he growls against your lips and you nip his. You push sandor down on his back and you straddle him. His hands going to your waist and ass. 

"An your mine" you grin and he runs his rough hands up your back making you shiver and your hips rock. You knew it would be a very long night. 

[holierthancunt]

where are the fics with strong minded, strong willed ocs???? stop giving me weak demure women. fics are my escapism!!

[tryskomys]

Psycho Killer still in works <3 hopefully I’ll get another part out in 2022 lol…I can’t seem to be able to say goodbye to the story so I’ll stop saying “next chapter will be the finale” because I just don’t know what my brain will unexpectedly produce…on another note - probably real random all these years later, but would anyone be interested in a GoT story centered around the Hound? I’ve had some ideas in my head for like, 10 years now and I’d like to finally get them on paper! I’m thinking “swordswoman from the Shadow Lands in Stark services gets stranded in King’s Landing as she guards Sansa”? Let me know!

[justagirlwholikesadam]

Realm's Delight

Summary: You were the twin of the dark haired child Cersei had with Robert. While fever took your twin, you survived. You are known throughout the seven kingdom as the realm's delight. The years has passed and your younger brother Joffrey wants something you have. Sandor Clegane x Baratheon! Reader

A/n: Let me know if you enjoy this. Likes and comments are appreciated. Enjoy -L

Warning: NSFW, being the it girl, Joffrey being Joffrey, Robert is nice to us, manipulation at its finest, daddy's girl, princess wants princess gets, territorial!

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“It was a miracle.” Robert Baratheon, your father told you. You had survived the horrid fever that took your twin brother away. It was a secret that was kept among the Lannisters and only Robert. While Cersei was in mourning of the loss of her son, Robert’s was cut short. Cersei always resented him for that and that he gave you his undivided attention. Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knew how Robert adored you. Some had even said that he loves you more than his own wife, Cersei and as you grew, he practically gave you whatever your heart desired. Your father wasn’t the only one to give you gifts. Fur straight from House Stark, jewels and the finest dresses from House Martell. Seafood freshly caught by House Greyjoy. The list of gifts went on and on. You were named the realm’s delight among the people. 

When Robert learned about the nickname that you have been given he feared that you will have the same fate as Lyanna Stark. Robert decided to do what was best, keep you protected at all times. Robert declared for Sandor Clegane to become your personal guard. Cersei had cried out to Robert about it. He is a monstrosity and hideous beast, she ranted. You heard of the Clegane’s brothers. Lord Baelish always been somewhat kind enough to keep you up to date about the accomplishments Ser Gregor had done along with Sandor’s. 

“A flower like you shouldn’t be guarded by such an animal.” Lord Baelish exclaimed as his wandering eyes looked up and down that you. You grabbed a hold of his hands. Lord Baelish blushed from the sudden contact. 

“I will grow to be the most beautiful flower because of that animal.” You whispered to Lord Baelish who honestly wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying. 

You were so close to him, his mind was in the gutters. Rolling your eyes when you turn away to leave Lord Baelish, you wipe your hands on your dress while walking away from him. Men, they will always think with their cock. Cersei had told you after she had too many cups of wine. Your uncle, Jamie had laughed at her and tried to take her back to her chambers before she said anything else. That’s how you used Lord Baelish to tell you about the gossip going around. A praise, batting your eyelashes at him or giving him a smile was all needed for him to tell you what you wanted to know. 

When Sandor was presented to you for the first time, you were surprised. He was the second tallest man you ever seen, his brother was the first. He had lowered his head as he entered the chambers so he wouldn’t hit the door frame. Robert had taken your hand and pulled you towards Sandor. You noticed Sandor had the most beautiful brown eyes you've ever seen. Brown, like the earth and as the light hit his eyes, they looked like honey. You got a closer look when he knelt in front of you and vowed to keep you safe. You knew about the story of his burn scars. It took you an afternoon with Lord Baelish, drinking tea to learn about it. You had taken a liking to Sandor when he became your guard. He was too silent for your liking but that meant you had to break his walls down. 

Sandor stood and waited with you outside of your mother’s chambers. She was going to give birth to her second child. Sandor had mumbled to you to keep still since you kept walking back and forth, worried every time you heard your mother’s screams. You were about to say something when the screams stopped. Joffrey was born, and he was healthy. King Robert had his heir to the iron throne. Cersei had two other children after that and your relationship with her became unsteady. Sandor would cast a look at you whenever someone mentioned to you about Joffrey’s and your siblings' golden locks as they grew. You gave them a smile and answered. “They have been blessed with the Lannister’s golden hair.”

He knew you weren’t an idiot, he ignored when people said you were and sometimes when in a bad mood he slayed them whenever they expressed their opinions about it to him loudly. All beauty but nothing in your head. He wanted to tell them how wrong they were. He had spent hours with you in the dusty library of the castle. Seen you excelled in your studies. The winning smile you gave them disappears the moment they leave your sight. 

“Something to say, my beloved Sandor?” The tips of Sandor’s ears grew hot by your affectionate words. You had a habit of calling him all sorts of names after both of you grew closer. You didn't want to admit it to Sandor but you like seeing him squirm after calling him those sweet names. 

“No, princess.” He croaked out when you gave a cheeky smile. He immediately looked down at the ground. 

“Do you think father will ever notice?” You ask Sandor and he looks back at you. You were being serious. 

Sandor shook his head, no. “Maybe if he stops drinking and catches a break from his whores, I reckon he might see it. Unfortunately I can’t say anything. As much as father loves me more, I fear I will be punished if I say it.” 

Sandor was right you weren’t the dumb princess everyone seems to think. As the time passed, Joffrey and the rest of your siblings grew; it's been nearly 16 years. You had finally managed to get out of a marriage proposal that your father mentioned to you. Sandor was waiting outside as he heard your voice behind your father’s chambers door. He couldn’t help but grin when he heard the hearty laughter from the King. 

“Thank you, father. I knew you would be able to understand. That’s why you are the most wonderful King to ever live.” Sandor heard you say before walking out. 

Sandor watched as you shut the door behind you and pointed at the staircase nearby. Sandor looked around his surroundings, making sure no one was in sight. He walked a few steps down and turned to see you walking towards him. He lets out a huff when you jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Seven hells.” Sandor cursed when kissed his cheek, attacking him with kisses. Sandor moved to capture your lips with his. 

“I take it. It went well.” Sandor said, pulling you close to him. You nodded with a grin. 

“Father can be very kind when he’s drunk out of his mind.” You told him as he put you down on the steps. Both of you froze at the sound of Joffrey’s voice, he was coming up the steps. Sandor immediately took a few steps away from you. 

“Oh look, it’s my dear sister.” 

“Hello, my dear brother.” You greeted Joffrey in the same sarcastic tone. The blonde stood a few steps down from you with Ser Meryn Trant behind him. 

“Dog.” Joffrey said.  “My-.” 

“You mean Sandor.” You cut Sandor off. Your harsh tone wiped the smirk off Joffrey's face. You crossed your arms over your chest. This was an ongoing thing. Joffrey would call Sandor a dog to get a rise out of you. 

“His name is Sandor. Have you forgotten?” Joffrey can’t help but smile wickedly at you. It irritated you, Joffrey grew to be more ill and filled with a horrible attitude. He was a spoiled child, that’s all you had to say about your brother. His words and remarks were vile and you wouldn’t stand for it especially when it came to Sandor or to your servants. 

“He’s a dog, my dear sister. There’s no changing that. He is The Hound.” 

“You’re a dog as well. You even act like one and yet people still call you prince.” You answered back. 

“You little-.” Meryn Trant stopped mid sentence when he saw Sandor walking down the steps to get next to you. 

“Finish what you were saying. I fucking dare you.” Sandor threatens Meryn Trant and gives him a cold stare down. Sandor’s reputation grew as the years passed. Killer, monster, perhaps even worse than his brother, the names and the fear of fighting against him grew. They all knew no one is safe when he’s protecting you. 

“You are so kind to the people below us.” Joffrey said, making your eyes roll. You wished for the day when Joffrey realized that he is a bastard. It was called a rumor but you knew the truth. Cersei has always been a bit sloppy when she was drunk. You had seen your mother and your uncle, Jamie getting cozy. 

“I will be so heartbroken when you finally leave King’s Landing and join those filthy people from Drone.” You smile at your brother. Plans have been changed. 

“I’m surprised that you know about my marriage proposal with Drone.” You said knowing him and your mother had conspired this marriage proposal. 

“Let me be the one to deliver this good news to you, dear brother.” Joffrey frowned as you approached him closer. 

“There is no need to be heartbroken, for I am staying. There is no proposal.” Joffrey's blonde brows rose up and his shocked expression turned into an angry one. 

“It must be hard not being father’s favorite.”  You whispered. 

This dispute, the rivalry between you and brother began when he was able to see how Robert favored you more. He reached out for Robert but Robert was busy being King or being drunk. Joffrey was always envious of you, you had your father wrapped around your finger along with the entire realm while you got cheered and praised. He got concerned looks from the people of King's Landing. 

“Shall we go, Sandor? Agatha said she was preparing chicken for prandium.” You looked over at Sandor who nodded at you. 

“Yes, princess.” Passing by Joffrey, you ignored the look from Mery Trant. Sandor bowed his head to Joffrey and followed you. You can hear Sandor’s heavy footsteps behind you as you continue to hold your front. You wouldn’t let Joffrey know that his little plan to get rid of you didn’t work. Thanks to Lord Baelish and Lord Varys who gave you a heads up about it again, this wasn’t the first time. Joffrey wanted to get rid of you again and now he had even gotten your mother to play along. 

Night came and you welcomed the warmth Sandor provided you. Even though the weather of King’s Landing was already warm you still preferred the heat from Sandor’s body. 

“I heard something.” Sandor spoke after a moment of silence. You played with the soft hair on his chest while you laid your head on his arm, his arms tightening around you. 

“Speak, Sandor.” You softly said, growing anxious every passing second. 

“The servants overheard Joffrey asking Cersei about taking me as his own guard.” You raised your head off his arm and looked down at him. 

“What?” 

“He wants me as his guard.” Sandor answered you. You shook your head. 

“That little cunt.” You whispered under your breath and you realized Sandor wasn’t even looking at you. He kept staring up at the ceiling of your chambers. His eyes had become dull and his face was emotionless. Pushing the sheets off your body, you moved to sit in his lap. Paying no attention to the soreness between your legs, you felt him hold on to your legs as you cupped his face with both hands. 

“He won’t take you away from me.” Sandor let out a strain chuckle.

He knew what he had with you won’t last. He had made a promise to himself when he first met you. He wouldn't fall in love with you but he broke it. He was utterly in love with you after being your guard for many years. He had convinced himself in the beginning of your relationship that you guys can be together but reality was hitting him straight in the face, you were a princess and he was just a second born son. You would be married to someone else, someone better. You would leave him. 

“I swear it.”  

“Might be for the best if I do switch. It will be for the best.” Sandor said, making you frown. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to watch you marry some lord or a king and give him kids.” Sandor traced the skin of your legs as he spoke. 

“Your father won’t decline the next marriage proposal. He did it for the last two but not the third one. He won’t, I know it. The realm wants to see you married and have children. If I keep guarding you and you get married, I’ll kill your husband.” Sandor said sincerely. You dropped your hands from his face and brought it down to his chest. 

“Do you love me?” You asked. 

Sandor’s jaw clenched and his eyes grew hard. “Yes or no?” 

“You know I do. I have killed for you.” Sandor responded with no remorse. He had spilled blood for you and had lost count on how many people he killed to protect you and your honor.  

“If you love me then never say those words again. Promise me?! Promise me that you won’t say that it’s best.”

Sandor said your name softly but you yelled at him. “Swear it to me! Please.” 

Sandor nodded, raising his hand up to cup your cheek when he saw you on the verge of tears. He couldn’t bear seeing you cry. You grabbed on to his wrist, kissing his palm. 

“I promise. I swear it.” He told you. You leaned down to kiss him. Enjoying the tender moment with him, there were a few times when Sandor showed his soft side with you. It was mostly in bed, both of you would be wrapped around each other and sometimes the aftermath of many orgasms. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” He told you and you began to kiss him harder moving your hips, your cunt humping against his cock. Whining loudly when you felt him pull you to his chest and wrap an arm around you. His free hand touches your bare ass. Sandor takes a deep breath as he feels how warm and wet you are. 

“I won't let Joffrey take you away from me. I have a plan.” 

Sandor’s hand freezes on your ass and looks down at you. 

“A plan?” You nodded as you pressed a kiss on his chest. 

“Yes. You’re mine, Sandor. No one is going to take you away from me.” Your words were like a shot of adrenaline to him. He gripped your ass harder, he wanted to believe you.

He didn't want to ruin this moment with a fight. He wanted to remember this night with you incase this would be the last night he gets to spent with you. Naked and curled up together. He wanted to enjoy it, so he moved to his side, taking you with him. Facing each other now, Sandor drapes your leg over his waist, your right arm under his head while his arm goes under you. In a thirst position, he can hold you close to him. You bump his nose softly and kiss his scared cheek.  He gripped your waist pulling you closer to him.

You shut your eyes and moan when his thick fingers touch your slit. Gather the reminiscence of your cum and his dripping from your hole and rub it on along the swollen lips of your cunt. The tip of his fingers gliding over your clit making you cry out, your cunt was sensitive from earlier. Your toes curled up and legs tensed up when you felt his finger inside of you. 

“Fuck.” He groans as he holds you close to him. Moaning his name as you felt him finger you for a moment. He shifted and moved your legs higher so he had room. 

“Sandor.” You cry out his name as he slips inside of you. You held on to his arms as he gripped your waist while pumping into you. 

His face hidden between your neck and shoulder, you can feel his hand on your back, nails digging into your skin. You held on for dear life as you heard him growl against your skin. 

“I’ll kill him, Y/n.” He moans to you as he fucks you, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt. His thrust was growing faster and harsher. The thought of you married with some prince made him angry. Even if people didn't know, you were his and he would keep it that way.

“You hear me?” He said with a moan. He moves his face towards you. You nod at him letting out a pitched whine when he hits that sweet spot. 

“You belong with me. You’re mine.” You kissed him trying to mask your moans but nothing in the world would mask the squelching sound of your pussy being fucked. 

Sandor held on to you as he moved his hips back and forward. He feels his balls tighten when he feels you cum on him, you’re trembling, skin slick with sweat. Sandor is grunting as he manhandles you. Your hands are on him, touching him, you can feel the muscles and his scars from his battles on his back and his arms. 

Sandor cries your name and you shut your eyes as he presses his hips against you, slamming his cock deep inside of you. His hand on your hips goes down your ass, cups your cheek. He squeezes it as he cums deep inside of you. You whimper feeling stuff, your pussy keeps clenching and unclenching around him. He shifts his hips and you moan at the feeling of your clit being ticked by his pubic hair.

You feel his lips on your cheek, pressing soft kisses as he huffs out of breath. 

“Sandor.” You whispered as you nuzzled against his face. You didn’t mind the feeling of the scars against your face, you kept close to him enjoying the aftermath of your orgasm. 

You didn’t want this to end, you wouldn’t allow it. Sandor was yours first, Sandor belongs to you just as much you belong to him. You weren’t going to give him up without a fight. 

Morning came and you were woken by your ladies in waiting. The flock of ladies knocked and waited for you outside to respond. You rose up, finding yourself alone. You wrapped yourself in a blanket and invited them inside. One by one they walked inside, picking up the sheets from the floor, one went to your closet to get your clothes for the day and one opened the doors to the balcony. 

“Here, my princess.” The eldest came by you after you covered yourself with your robe. You thanked her for the tea and waited patiently while one warmed your bath water.

One of the ladies was brushing your hair after your bath. They stopped when there was a knock on the door, opening the door. Sandor came walking in, he had a concerning look on his face. 

“Good morrow, princess. The king demands your presence in his chambers at once.” 

You walked to your father’s chambers with Sandor behind you. He sensed how nervous you were. Before going around the hall, you felt Sandor grab your arm. He gently pulled you back. You were pushed softly against the wall. Sandor stood in front of you, towers over you as he looked down at you. 

“Worried?” You whispered to him. You feel one of his hands cup your face. 

Sandor doesn’t reply, he simply presses his lips against yours. “Go on.” He tells you and steps away from you. 

Sandor has a habit of never expressing his feelings out loud. Sandor followed you quietly. He wasn’t worried at all, he was scared and he hasn’t felt this way since he was a child when Gregor disfigured him. 

You walked down the hall and came to a halt when you saw Ser Meryn Trant standing outside of your father’s chamber. It meant that Joffrey was inside. You felt bile rise up. Clearing your throat, you took a deep breath to calm your nervousness. 

Meryn Trant saw you and opened your father’s chamber door for you. You looked over your shoulder and gave Sandor a look of nervousness. You took one last look of his brown eyes. It calms you for a moment and you’re able to walk inside your father’s chamber. You noticed Joffrey sitting down along with your mother while your father sat behind his desk. The door shut behind you as you walked towards your father. 

“Mother. Brother.” You greeted them and walked next to your father. You leaned down to kiss one of his pudgy cheeks. Robert gave you a smile and greeted you. You can smell the wine coming off your father.

“Sit, we have been waiting. Joffrey and your mother wish to discuss something with us.” 

You sat on the empty seat next to your mother. “Joffrey has told me that he would like Sandor as his personal guard.” Your mother said. 

So this was about Sandor. “What's wrong with Ser Meryn Trant?” You asked Joffrey. 

Joffrey wasn't expecting for you to say something. He thought you would obey instantly. You stare at Joffrey, you weren't going to let Sandor slip away from you. You were going to fight for him. 

Joffrey looked over at his father who was also staring at him. “Well, since Y/n is going off in Dorne. I want Sandor.” 

“I'm not going to Dorne. I told you.” Joffrey clenched his jaw. 

“You had refused your last marriage proposal. Father, are you going to accept this?” Joffrey asked Robert. 

“She isn't going to Dorne.” Robert said, making Cersei sit up. “Why not?” She asked him. 

“You dare to question me, woman.” Robert eyed Cersei. 

“Our daughter has not been wed, people will talk.” 

“You think I care what people say about her. She is my daughter. My word is law and final. She won't be shipped to Dorne.” 

You dislike how sometimes your father would speak to your mother. Robert was a down right misogynist but when it came to you he was different. You knew it had to do with Lyanna Stark, everyone told you how there was a resemblance between you and her. It was confirmed when Ned Stark and his family came to King's Landing to celebrate your name day. Ned couldn't take his eyes off of you and had even stuttered his sister's name after drinking with your father. 

You felt bad for Ned after so many years the death of his sister still had a hold over him just like Robert. He had begged forgiveness to you the next day. “Nonsense. No need to forgive, Lord Stark.” 

“He’s a good man.” Sandor told you after Ned left. You had finished a walk with Ned in the garden after you told him if it would be alright to share some stories about Lyanna. He gave you a smile and accepted. You learned a lot about her and intend to use this information. 

“He is.” You replied to him. 

“It will get him killed one of these days.” Sandor’s words made you sad. You didn't want to see the Lord of Winterfell dead. Unlike Joffrey and your mother, you enjoy their presence and have grown fond of his wife, Catelyn. 

“Our daughter should have been married and had babies by now. We can use her as an advantage, a leverage.” Cersei stood up from her seat and walked to the corner of the room where the cart of wines and cups were at. 

“I believe it has to be that atrocious dog always behind her. His face scares off any suitors. She will be married soon and doesn’t need him anymore.” 

“He protects me, mother.” You said folding your hands on your lap. Cersei looked over her shoulder at you. You looked over at your father because at the end of the day, he has the last day. 

“Father, remember the riot. Those men would have killed me. Sandor was there and killed them all. He killed those men.” Robert nodded remembering all too well about that horrible riot that broke out.  

You stood up from your seat and walked towards the desk. You kneel down near your father ignoring the tsk sound from Joffrey. You decided if Joffrey and your mother wanted to play dirty. So will you. 

“I do not wish the same fate as the lovely Lyanna Stark. May she be at peace.” Your father’s eyes shifted at the mention of Lyanna.

“I know. I have refused two marriage proposals now but I must tell you the truth, Sandor didn’t trust them. He had seen him, heard them speak ill behind my back.” You knew the words you were about to say will be a low blow to your mother and it will create a shift between you two but you had to do it. You didn’t want Joffrey to have Sandor. Sandor Clegane is yours. 

“You might think this is ridiculous, father.” You grabbed your father’s hand. 

“I want to be loved. The type of love you and Lyanna shared. Ned told me stories about your love with her and it warmed my heart. I crave for that love you both shared.” You flinched at the sound of Cersei throwing her cup of wine to the ground and walked out of the room. No one said anything for a moment. You just watched as the red wine from Drone stained the carpeted rug. This was your chance, your moment to seal it. Joffrey won’t take Sandor away from you. 

Sandor stood straight up when he saw the queen running out of the room. The door was opened and he looked ahead. He saw you kneeling by your father, looking up at him. 

“Don't take Sandor away from me. Don't let me have the same fate as the woman you loved.” 

Robert smiled down at you and cupped your face. “No need to worry. Clegane will stay by your side.” 

Robert looks towards Joffrey. “Stay with Ser Mery Trant. If you wish for a more depraved guard. Perhaps we can ask The Mountain to fill in.” Joffrey quickly shook his head. He sent a glare at you before standing up and walking out of the room. Sandor moved away from the door when he saw Joffrey with a pout on his face. Ser Mery Trant followed the prince. 

Sandor looked back at the doorway. Robert had helped you get up on your feet and gave you a hug. Sandor gave you a small smile when he saw you staring back at him with your own smile as you hugged your father. It worked. 

Sandor knew he would have to beg forgiveness for not believing in you. Your plan worked. Shame on him for ever doubting you, Princess Y/n Baratheon, the realm's delight. 

Chapter 2 ->

[enveine]

when doves cry - s. clegane: chapter one (pilot)

pairing: sandor clegane x f!eldest stark reader summary: your loyalty to your family is unwavering, a steadfast commitment that defines your character. however, navigating the turbulent waters of newfound, intense emotions for a man devoted to a family starkly opposed to your own will challenge the foundations of this loyalty. as you stand on the precipice of conflicting allegiances, the question looms: what sacrifices would you make in the name of love? rating: 18+ word count: 4.4k chapter warnings: smut, "we just met but I want to fuck you", kinda ooc sandor, language, story loosely follows the timeline of S1, semi-public sex- very risky, rough sex, reader probably cares more about what's happening then sandor does, hickeys in hidden places, unprotected piv sex, angst, "we just fucked and now we're practically going to be living together".

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The great hall of Winterfell buzzed with activity as the Stark family prepared for the arrival of King Robert Baratheon and his entourage. You were the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, so you knew all eyes were going to be on you; a young woman of noble birth, at an age desperate to be married well. You moved gracefully through the throngs of people, your eyes keenly observing the bustling preparations. You wore a simple but elegant gown, the Stark colors proudly displayed.

A little nervous, to be expected. Nothing a little ride couldn’t fix.

On the way back, you noticed that winter truly had begun its descent upon the land, the air frigid and the wind mighty. The crunch of snow beneath the hooves of your horse echoed through the trees as you headed back towards Winterfell. You were eager to greet the royal party.

As you approached the stable, you hear the unmistakable clatter of hooves against the cobblestone. The royal retinue had arrived. Intrigued, you watch closely to see the beautiful ocean of golden banners, curiosity piqued by the impending arrival of the king.

The gate swung open, revealing the group of visitors. Your gaze was drawn to a towering figure at the back of the party. A man of imposing stature, his face hidden beneath a twisted helm, and clad in dark, rugged armor. He radiated an air of danger that made the other courtiers instinctively give him a wide berth.

Still mounted, you took a step back, closer to your direwolf Nyx. You watched him with a curious gaze. As he sat there, a silent sentinel also mounted upon his horse, you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze met your own.

"Who's that?" you inquired, directing the question to a nearby stable boy.

The boy hesitated before answering, "That's the Hound, my Lady. Sandor Clegane, the King's dog."

You clicked your tongue, “King’s dog, huh?” a small laugh, “Interesting title.”

You watched as the man dismounted, your eyes narrowing with interest. He moved with a certain controlled grace, his movements deliberate and purposeful. An unexpected shiver ran down your spine as you observed the mysterious figure. There was something about him that defied the norms of courtly behavior, an untamed quality that set him apart. In a sea of polished knights and well-mannered courtiers, he was a dark anomaly.

You couldn't help but be intrigued by the mysterious figure. Your eyes lingered on him, studying the scars that marred his face. There was a hardness in his gaze that suggested a life of brutality, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the man beneath the armor.

Your eyes met for the briefest moment, a flicker of connection that sent a jolt through your spine. Quickly averting her gaze, you tried ignoring the heart pounding feeling in her chest. The Hound continued on, seemingly indifferent to the glances and whispers that followed him. After his eyes left yours, you couldn’t help but watch his every move again. That man, Sandor Clegane, he was beautiful.

And he was coming right towards you.

As you dismounted her horse, the Hound's attention shifted briefly to her. You felt a twinge of discomfort under his scrutinizing gaze, but being the strong-minded Stark you were, held your ground. Nyx, ever vigilant, growled softly at the Hound, who merely raised an eyebrow in response.

"You a Stark girl?" he grumbled, his voice rough and devoid of warmth.

You nodded, a defiant yet humorous spark in your eyes. "Well I stand before you wearing Stark colors. I’d hope so. (Y/N) Stark. And you are?"

"The Hound. Sandor Clegane," he replied with a hint of mockery. "King's dog, they call me."

You arched an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "A dog, you say?” In a bold move, your eyes slowly moved up and down, taking in a good look of his entire figure. “I don’t see a collar.”

His lips twitched, almost forming a reluctant smirk. It was a rare sight, a crack in his stoic facade.

“Well, dog, I hope you’re house-trained.”

Your exchange was brief, but in that moment, something shifted. A connection, unspoken and unacknowledged, lingered between the two of you. The Hound turned away, disappearing into the crowd, leaving you with a lingering sense of curiosity and an unsettling awareness that even though you’d just met that man—you wanted more of him.

Later that night, the great hall of Winterfell resounded with the clinking of goblets and the boisterous laughter of the guests. You found yourself drawn into the festivities, attempting to put aside the enigmatic encounter with Sandor Clegane. The feast in honor of King Robert Baratheon's visit was in full swing, and the Stark family showed they knew how to put together an extravagant feast.

As the night progressed, you caught glimpses of him across the crowded hall. His presence was ominous, and whispers of him still followed like shadows. Your curiosity mingled with a sense of unease, yet you couldn't shake the feeling that your brief exchange held a significance you couldn't fully comprehend.

You continued to mingle among the noble guests, trying to keep your eyes away from Sandor. But to no avail, you watched in-between pointless conversations as he stood at the outskirts of the celebration. His gaze fixed on the revelry with a mix of disdain and disinterest and you felt a peculiar pull, as if the currents of destiny were nudging you toward the enigmatic man.

An unexpected voice interrupted you in the middle of your thoughts. "(Y/N), you seem quite taken with the Hound," spoke your younger sister, Sansa Stark, her blue eyes glinting mischievously.

You raised an eyebrow and snorted out a laughter, attempting to conceal the obvious interest written in your eyes. "Taken? No, my dear Sansa. Merely curious. He is a formidable figure, after all." You put your arm between hers, nudging her body in the direction of the man who looked quite bored. “You know what mother always tells us. We are wolves, we must be the ones to pounce before the others.”

Sansa's gaze flitted between you and the man in question, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Well, just be careful. Rumors say he has a fearsome temper."

You chuckled at her, feigning nonchalance. "Rumors are just that—rumors. I'm sure there's more to him than meets the eye."

“Rumor has it that I think you’re full of rubbish.” She replied, a playful laugh falling from her lips.

“Oh Sansa, run off. Father needs you.” You nodded in the direction of your father, clearly enjoying his conversation with King Robert and his son, Joffrey.

Poor Sansa, you thought, that boy looks like nothing but trouble.

As the night wore on, you couldn't shake the feeling that their paths were destined to cross again. And fate intervened sooner than expected. The King's squire, Lancel Lannister, approached you with a cup of wine.

"From the Hound," he declared, offering you the goblet.

You hesitated, fingers brushing against the cold metal. You glanced in the direction of the Hound, who merely nodded in acknowledgment. Taking the wine, you nodded back with a small smile, and Lancel retreated into the shadows.

As you sipped the wine, the rich flavor lingered on her lips. As you found yourself drawn once more Sandor, you wondered what he’d taste like lingering on your lips. As your eyes met, a silent understanding passed between the two of you—a forming connection, born from the flames of need for passion.

Eventually, after a few more cups of wine, you found yourself standing at the edge of the hall, watching the dancers twirl to the music. A deep voice behind you interrupted your thoughts. "You fancy dancing, Lady (Y/N)?"

You turned to find Sandor standing there, his burned face impassive. "I can dance if the occasion calls for it," you replied, your eyes meeting his with something you couldn’t describe, but you could definitely feel it.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "She’s a wolf with claws, then."

You were undeterred by his nature, offering a playful smile. "You sure seem to enjoy lurking in the shadows, Ser Clegane. Is that where you find your solace?"

He grunted, a low sound that could be mistaken for a chuckle. "Solace is overrated. I prefer the edge of the firelight."

You tilted your head, curls cascading over your shoulder. "A mysterious man, I see. Are you afraid the light will reveal too much?"

Sandor's lips twitched into a half-smile, a rare sight on his scarred face. "Some things are better left in the dark."

Leaning in, you whispered, "But not everything. Some things are meant to be uncovered." You caught the glint in his eye, a flicker of something lustful beneath the rough exterior.

The conversation continued, the banter growing more flirtatious with each exchange. You teased and prodded, finding amusement in the unexpected connection you felt with the man. He, in turn, responded with a gruff charm that surprised even himself.

Eventually, he left you with short instructions, “Broken tower.”

At last, you found yourself in the quiet solitude with the idea of getting to know Sandor better. In a way you’d known nobody before. The anticipation of his presence weighed on you, and a flutter of nerves danced in your stomach. The air was charged with a different kind of energy, one that held the promise of a connection that transcended the boundaries of right and wrong.

A soft knock on the door signaled his arrival, and when you opened it, there he stood, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of intensity and vulnerability. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over his scarred face, softening the harsh lines that had witnessed battles and hardships.

"I thought we might continue our conversation," he rumbled, his voice carrying a note of sincerity that caught you off guard, especially when he roughly grabbed your cheeks in his hands and pressed his lips against yours. Your heart raced as you welcomed his tongue inside your mouth, trying your best to close the door.

The room pulsed with palpable tension, igniting like a fervent flame, as your hands yearned to make contact with him in every possible manner. The warmth emanating from your skin created a contrast against the cold, unyielding metal of his armor. Restless and eager, your hands became a silent testament to the unspoken urgency of your desire.

Sandor's gaze remained fixed on yours throughout, ablaze with a passion you had long yearned for—a fervor you couldn't fathom experiencing with the man standing before you.

Your teeth sank into his lower lip, coaxing a resonant, primal groan from him, prompting his reluctant withdrawal. "She's a wolf with claws and teeth," he chuckled, wiping away the trace amount of blood that had emerged from the newfound wound.

Rather than offering a response, your body found itself pressed against the wall, his calloused hand gently mitigating the impact on your head. "Couldn’t very well carry our conversation with your lips against mine," you remarked at last, tilting your head to the side as his lips met the tender skin of your neck.

He stopped for a moment- another faint chuckle coming before continuing, “aye, that was the point.”

Sandor persisted in tracing kisses along your neck, momentarily pausing only to leave subtle bites in places known only to him. In this moment, he recognized that he was on the brink of losing all restraint, evident in the autonomy of his hands, which seemed to explore every inch of your body with a desire you willingly indulged. Oh, how willingly you would allow him to continue.

“Sandor, please, I need-” you were cut off mid sentence by him grabbing your right leg and wrapping it around his waist. The cold metal hid his hardening cock—the feeling of it against your warm skin made you anticipate his every move. “If we’re g-gonna do this.. we need to hurry..”

“You need to keep quiet.”

His lips descended, caressing the delicate fabric of your dress. His fingers deftly maneuvered to release you from its confines with a sense of urgency; there was an animalistic quality to his actions—rough fingers, accompanied by soft growls, responding to the rhythmic dance of your body against his determined hold. A silent plea resonated, a tacit acknowledgment that you craved everything he was willing to bestow upon you.

A hushed stillness enveloped the space for the next few moments, broken only when he skillfully lowered your dress, unveiling your tits. Sandor's fingers delicately traced the contours of each nipple, his unwavering gaze captivated by their response. With each circular motion, they seemed to intensify in firmness, a testament to the heightened sensitivity your body exhibited in mere minutes of his touch. He reveled in the allure of your immediate responsiveness.

If anyone were to walk in they’d see such a pornographic sight: the beloved, eldest daughter of Ned Stark, nipples hard and swollen, dress hiked up to her waist while the Prince’s hound let her hump his armor. By this point, you'd wager that the burgeoning dampness in your silk panties had left its mark on the cool silver surface, a silent proclamation of your possession of the man. Yet, the mutual understanding between you both acknowledged that any unsuspecting onlooker venturing in would be treated to an undeniable spectacle.

If this were your first time, perhaps a hint of nervousness would have crept in, particularly as you sensed his hands gently sliding your panties down to your knees. Yet, even in such a moment, his adept handling imparted a profound sense of security. This man, bound by oath to safeguard his King, was now silently pledging to protect you with equal devotion.

But, fortunately, nothing could protect your body from what Sandor was about to do.

Seating himself on the ground after loosening his leather pants, he then drew you down to join him. As you settled onto his lap, he playfully grazed against your entrance with his cock, all the while continuing his descent of kisses along your neck. With a stern tone, he uttered, "My Lady, speak the word and I’ll stop."

Gazing into his eyes, you found them ablaze with desire, mirroring the fervor you sensed within yourself. His captivating eyes, the unsteady cadence of his breath, and the formidable frame enveloping you in its embrace—you desired nothing else in that moment.

“I don’t think such words exist.” You whispered.

At last, your lips met again with an intense passion, and as he slowly pushed his cock inside, his kiss carried a raw urgency that you eagerly reciprocated. Midway, a soft moan escaped as an indescribable sensation stirred in your stomach. Gazing down, your eyes caught a glimpse of your warmth enveloping him voraciously—a hunger akin to a famished wolf.

Sandor wasn’t even in completely.

His hips moved gradually against yours, a measured rhythm aiming to acquaint you with his full length. Pressed chest to chest, he sensed the rapid cadence of your intense heartbeat, but as his fingers traced small circles on your thighs, he felt it gradually subside. Sandor understood that in due course, he would sense the resurgence of your elevated heart rate, particularly when he ultimately filled you entirely. The connection was palpable, your pelvis intimately aligned with his.

He sustained a consistent rhythm, guiding your hips in a reciprocal dance of thrusts. The entire encounter was swift and purposeful, each thrust delivered with a sense of urgency, as if time were a constraint. In a sense, it was, considering the uncertainty of someone stumbling upon you at any moment.

Yet, beneath it all, an undercurrent of passion prevailed. The symphony of your gasps harmonized with his occasional groans, creating a melodic atmosphere. Your hand remained anchored on the back of Sandor's neck like a steadying handlebar, providing support as his thrusts intensified. It felt fitting that this was how Sandor Clegane fucked his women—clothed, he embodied roughness and intensity; how could one become tender and affectionate when undressed?

The familiar sensation of tightness formed in your stomach, and truth be told, there was a hint of disappointment in how swiftly the entire encounter unfolded. Yet, the lack of surprise lingered; he had proven to be the quickest in getting you into bed. The inexplicable allure he held over you remained a mystery, but in this moment, such thoughts were irrelevant—especially when you stood on the brink of blissful release.

Suddenly, a surge of sensation swept over you as his hand enveloped your throat. Sandor felt the subtle tightening of your walls around his cock, a telltale sign that you were teetering on the edge. He sought to bring you to that exquisite pleasure. Amidst the crescendo of your growing moans reverberating against the tower walls, his grip tightened, not to stifle your ecstasy but to cloak the sounds and shield the secrecy of your rendezvous.

As tears cascaded down your cheeks in response to the overwhelming pleasure, he spoke, "That's it, (Y/N), that's it…" It was as if he momentarily shed his usual demeanor, softening as he observed you in your vulnerable state. However, amidst the whirlwind that had your head spinning and everything fading to white, the only thing you could truly register was the profound impact of your orgasm.

Sandor wasn't far behind, withdrawing as you caught your breath, leaving your back adorned in ribbons of white cum. A soft whine escaped you as you felt it trickle down, accompanied by his heightened groans that surpassed those from when he was inside you. The aftermath left both of you in a hushed stillness, contemplating who would break the silence first. It was him, rising to his feet after moving your body off his lap and discreetly tucking his softening cock back into his trousers. He handed you a handkerchief, a gesture to cleanse the now drying traces from your back.

You wondered whether he would abandon you in the tower, retreat to his quarters, or perhaps rejoin the now dwindling party. To your surprise, he didn't. Instead, he extended his hand, helping you rise and assisting in the process of reclothing yourself. It was a considerate gesture, you acknowledged, yet it only added to the palpable tension that seemed to be mounting. You were certain Sandor could discern it in your expression—the subtle frown betraying your disappointment that the encounter had concluded. As you gazed at him, you searched for any sign of shared sentiment, any indication that he, too, would miss the intimacy you had just shared. Regrettably, you found nothing.

The air outside the tower was crisp, and the moon cast a silvery glow across the surroundings as Sandor led you down the winding path to your quarters. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken words, the tension between you two lingering even in the cool night air.

The journey was silent, punctuated only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the soft echo of your footsteps on the cobblestone path. Sandor's hand, firm yet strangely comforting, guided you through the dimly lit passages of the castle.

As you approached your quarters, a mix of conflicting emotions washed over you. There was a longing for something more, a desire to bridge the gap between the intimacy you'd just shared and the reality of the castle walls around you. The silence between you spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the uncharted territory you both found yourselves in.

Upon reaching your door, Sandor released your hand, and for a moment, it felt like a sudden loss. He stood there, his expression unreadable in the muted moonlight. You searched his eyes for any sign of what lay beneath the surface, but they remained enigmatic.

"Goodnight, Lady (Y/N)," Sandor gruffly uttered, breaking the silence. The words hung in the air, a simple farewell laden with unspoken complexities.

"Goodnight, Sandor Clegane," you replied, your voice soft and tinged with a hint of something unsaid. As you entered your quarters, the door closing behind you, the weight of the night settled in.

Alone in the hushed sanctuary of your quarters, the echoes of the night's encounter reverberated through the room. The emotions, like an unruly storm, swirled within you, and the dam holding them back began to crack.

As you stood there, the weight of what had transpired bore down on you. The tears, uninvited, welled up in your eyes and spilled over, tracing the contours of your cheeks. It wasn't just the physical intimacy that left you shaken; it was the tangled web of emotions that accompanied it.

Regret gnawed at you, and confusion settled in like a heavy fog. What had led you to this precipice, and where did you stand now? The vulnerability of the moment washed over you, leaving you adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

Fumbling with the fastenings of your dress, you sought solace in the act of undressing, as if shedding the layers would somehow alleviate the burden you carried. The moonlight filtering through the window cast shadows across the room, emphasizing the isolation you felt.

Laying on the bed, your tears soaked into the fabric beneath you, a silent lament for the choices made and the uncharted territories navigated. The intimacy, though a fleeting connection, left a profound impact, and the aftermath left you grappling with a whirlwind of emotions.

As the night wore on, the tears eventually subsided, leaving behind a quiet ache and a lingering question of what the dawn would bring. In the solace of your room, you found yourself wrestling with the complexities of desire, regret, and the uncertain path ahead.

The morning sun painted Winterfell in hues of gold, casting a warm light over the courtyard. Despite the tender touch of dawn, the echoes of the previous night's emotions still sat within your heart.

A soft knock on your door signaled the entrance of your father, whose countenance bore the strength of responsibility. "(Y/N)," he began with a softness, "gather your sisters. There's something we must discuss."

Compelled by both curiosity and a lingering sense of unrest, you summoned Arya and Sansa to join you in the family chambers. As the three of you assembled, a somber atmosphere enveloped the room, foreshadowing the gravity of your father's impending words.

Ned stood before you, a stalwart figure. "My daughters," he started, his voice bearing both love and gravitas, "a change is upon us. I have been offered the position of Hand of the King by King Robert."

Sansa's eyes widened, Arya's skepticism palpable, and you exchanged a glance with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty.

"We will be relocating to King's Landing," Ned continued, his gaze encompassing each of you. "It is an honor, but with it comes great responsibility. The court is a labyrinth of politics and intrigue, and I need my family by my side."

Arya's rebellious spirit simmered beneath the surface, while Sansa's excitement mingled with trepidation. As for you, the events of the night before lingered, making the move to King's Landing feel like an unexpected twist in the intricate tapestry of your life.

Amidst the familial exchanges, there was another silent dance occurring—one between you and Sandor. His eyes constantly drew your gaze. It was as if an invisible thread connected you, and in those moments, the world around you blurred as your eyes met his, wordlessly conveying a shared understanding of the complexities unfolding.

Ned Stark, seemingly oblivious to the subtle interplay, continued to outline the responsibilities that awaited the Stark family in the capital. As he spoke, your eyes frequently found Sandor's, and each exchange carried a weight of unspoken emotions. His gaze, normally guarded, held a hint of something that transcended the stoic exterior he presented to the world.

When Ned mentioned the unity of the Stark family in facing the challenges ahead, your eyes involuntarily sought out Sandor's once more. In that shared gaze, there was a recognition that echoed the uncertainties of the path ahead and the uncharted territories that lay before you.

The air seemed heavy with the weight of impending change as you sought out Sandor in the quiet corners of the castle. You found him in a secluded courtyard, the familiar hounds of House Stark milling about nearby. The atmosphere was tense, and the silent exchange of glances from before lingered in your mind.

"Sandor," you began, your voice cutting through the stillness. He turned to face you, his expression guarded but expectant.

The words tumbled out, the night before demanding acknowledgement. "What happened between us… it was unexpected, and now with the move to King's Landing, I don't know what this means."

Sandor's gaze, normally impenetrable, softened in a rare display of vulnerability. "It means nothing, my Lady. Just a moment in time, and we move on."

But you couldn't shake the lingering questions. "Is that all it was to you? Just a moment?"

He hesitated, his eyes meeting yours with a raw honesty. "It was more than that, but it's not something that fits into our worlds."

A surge of frustration mixed with a tinge of sadness swept over you. "Our worlds? What does that mean, Sandor? We're both headed to King's Landing. We're both a part of whatever is coming next."

His gaze held a complexity that mirrored the conflict within. "In King's Landing, there's a different kind of game being played. I’m not the one to bring into your world, and you sure as hell don't belong in mine."

The words stung, but there was a resignation in his tone, as if he sought to shield you from the harsh realities he faced daily.

You took a step closer, unwilling to let the unspoken linger. "I can decide what world I belong to, Sandor. And right now, I want to understand what this is between us."

He sighed, a mixture of frustration and reluctance. "We're just two people caught up in a storm. Best not to overthink it."

Before you could press further, the sound of footsteps approached, and the courtyard suddenly felt less secluded. Sandor's eyes met yours once more, a silent understanding passing between you.

"In King's Landing, things will have to change," he muttered, his tone a gruff acknowledgment of the challenges ahead.

The bittersweet taste of truth lingered in the air as he pressed a fleeting kiss to your forehead. A silent understanding passed between you, a farewell woven with unspoken regrets and the inevitability of parting ways.

As the distance between your bodies widened, the courtyard seemed to stretch infinitely. The angst that clung to the parting moments left an indelible ache, a silent ache that would resonate in the chambers of your heart long after the echoes of Sandor's footsteps faded into the shadows.

"I don't want to lose you," you confessed in your mind.

[azulolivart]

❤️‍🔥Just two beings kissed by fire❤️‍🔥

I am literally obsessed with this scene, and with them. I feel that it is an important moment that represents a lesson for both the characters involved and the reader.

In the books, Sansa teaches Sandor a lesson with her song. Violence is not the way. Things are not taken by force. Even people like him, whose life is full of resentment and anger, have a chance to redeem themselves.

In the TV show, it is Sandor who teaches Sansa a lesson. Looks are deceiving. She is afraid of him because of how he looks and is unable to look at him but he tells her, in his own way, that she will encounter people in life much worse than him and that she will have to look at them. In that moment, Sansa understands what he meant and sees through his horrible burned mask. That's why she says: "You won't hurt me".

Both versions seem like a poem to me and I needed to make a fanart of it. I love this scene, and I love the interactions they both have. I hope that at least in the books they’ll have a worthwhile reunion and that they can thank each other, or if GRRM allows it, something more. It would be such a beautiful thing to read that she sings to him again, actually wanting to sing a song for him. Of course, that’s if Sandor is really alive.

[rax-writes]

↬ in the middle of the night

Sandor Clegane x Reader

Warnings: None

Something awoke you from a deep slumber. Perhaps it was the Mother herself, you thought, because when you opened your eyes, they slowly focused on your husband, who was standing in the middle of the room, his silhouette illuminated by a couple of candles and the sliver of morning sunlight peeking over the horizon.

Sandor’s back was to you as he stared at the cradle at the foot of your shared bed, fully clothed in his leathers and his sword strapped to his waist. When he heard you stir, he spoke, but did not turn to face you.

“I should go with them. Go kill my brother,” he said with a humorless laugh. “Gods know I’m the only one who could end that evil bastard.”

You said nothing, so after a few moments, he continued – and you could swear you heard him sniffle faintly before speaking.

“But I just keep staring at this little fucker here, and… I can’t. I can’t bring myself to walk out that door – knowing I’d never see him, or you, again. Knowing I’d be condemning him to grow up without a father. Knowing that me walking out on him makes me no better than my father – who abandoned me to protect Gregor.”

A little noise from the dark-haired babe in the cradle prompted another, louder sniffle from Sandor this time. There was another pause, followed by an agitated, “Damn it all.”

The Hound then began hurriedly prying off his sword, outerwear, and boots, letting it all fall carelessly to the floor before climbing into bed with you. When he rested his head on your chest and wrapped his big arms around your torso, you noticed his face was wet, and he sniffled quietly a few more times. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, the feeling of the scarred flesh so familiar to you now.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“For what?” Sandor grumbled.

“For staying with us.”

He let out a heavy sigh, and although he did not respond, he gave you a squeeze in response. Sandor’s breathing slowed as you gently scratched your nails up and down his back, and when you heard a snore, you knew he was asleep. Soon after one last kiss to his forehead, you joined him in sleep.

[moonxknightx]

𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 --- Sandor Clegane x F!Reader ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 --- Smut ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐌 --- Game Of Thrones ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 --- 18+, smut, piv sex, choking, riding, missionary, breeding kink, ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 --- Being in love with a guard wasn’t the ideal thing for a princess. But that didn’t stop you from secretly meeting up with him purely just to fuck. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 --- “No one can ever find out about this.” (No.41) “I told you to stay quiet didn’t i?” (No.20)

“I NEED YOU.” Were the only words you said before the Hound, Sandor Clegane had pressed you up against the wall while smashing his lips against yours.

Being the only true born daughter of King Robert was hard. Really hard. you had many responsibilities for someone so young as yourself and you hated it. Let alone the fact that one day you will be married off to some prince or lord.

That was probably the scariest responsibility you had. You didn’t want to get married off to some prince or lord you didn’t know. You wanted to get married to Sandor Clegane or rather known as the Hound.

Yeah you saw that right. The Hound. You were madly in love with Sandor Clegane and you hated it because you knew there was no future with him as your husband. With you being a princess and him being a guard. It just wouldn’t happen.

But that didn’t stop you two from secretly meeting up with each other. Most of the time Sandor would sneak to your room, just like he did tonight.

The moment you opened the door to see it was Sandor, you pulled him into room and roughly kissed him, telling him how much you missed him after being apart for one whole day. How horrible right?

So here you were, pressed up against a wall while being kissed by your secret lover.

“Sandor please…i need you.” You begged while pulling away from Sandor’s lips. “You need me?” Asked Sandor in his usual low voice. “Yes i need you. Please fuck me.” You whined while bucking your hips against Sandor’s clothed cock.

“Get here.” Grunted Sandor while carrying you to your bed only to throw you down on it.

“No one can ever find out about this.” Sandor said while climbing on top of you. You gave Sandor a small nod before pulling him into you, roughly kissing him.

Sandor immediately kissed back while reaching for your night gown. “Take it off.” You whispered to Sandor.

Sandor’s gaze moved from your night gown to your face and back to your gown. You watched how Sandor slowly unbuttoned your night gown before pushing it down, revealing your naked body.

“Fucking hell.” Groaned Sandor while staring at your bare breasts. “Go on, touch them. I know you want to.” You smirked slightly while playing with Sandor’s hair.

Sandor slightly bit his lip while thinking about your words. He didn’t want to disrespect you in any way. He was your guard after all. He was supposed to protect you, not to fuck you behind closed doors. But here he was, laying in your bed while getting ready to fuck.

“Here.” You smiled softly while taking one of his big hands in yours, guiding it to your left breast.

Sandor’s breath slightly hitched when he felt your breast. But that didn’t stop him from softly kneading your soft flesh.

“So pretty.” He murmured before taking your left nipple in his mouth. You gasped when you felt his wet mouth on your skin. It felt so good that you wanted to feel more.

“Sandor…” You whimpered while throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to your breasts.

Sandor only grunted while sucking on your nipple, he just couldn’t get enough of it.

“I need you Sandor.” You breathed while your head fell slightly back. Sandor gave you a small nod before getting up.

You watched how he took off his armor before he joined you in bed again, being completely naked.

“Come here.” Grunted Sandor while grabbing your waist, pulling you on top of him so you were straddling his lap.

You could feel his hard cock poking the inside of your thigh which turned you on like crazy.

“Do you need some preparation first?” Asked Sandor while slightly moving you up and down his lap. You shook your head. “I just want to feel you please.” You sighed softly while taking hold of his cock.

Sandor watched how you pumped his length a few times before positioning it at your wet cunt.

“Are you sure about this?” Asked Sandor while grabbing your hips tightly. “Yes Sandor i’m sure, just fuck me.” You whimpered before lowering yourself down on his cock.

“Fuck.” You moaned softly while feeling how Sandor stretched you out with his big cock.

“You’re so tight.” Groaned Sandor while slowly thrusting in and out of you. You could only moan at the feeling of Sandor fucking you. It even came to the point where you almost screamed out in pleasure, but Sandor was quick to shut you up with placing his hand over your mouth.

“Keep quiet. You don’t want people to hear us do you?” Asked Sandor while rocking your hips down onto his cock, making him moan slightly.

You quickly shook your head while grabbing both of Sandor’s shoulders to steady yourself.

“Smart girl.” Smirked Sandor before throwing you off of him, so you were now laying on your back.

You watched how Sandor grabbed both of your legs and placed them over his shoulders before positioning his cock back at your entrance.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard.” Sandor smirked before pushing his cock into your cunt, causing you to gasp in both pleasure and pain. You swore you could feel him in your stomach.

“Fuck Sandor!” You moaned loudly before immediately regretting it. Sandor stopped pounding into you to look you in the eyes.

“I told you to stay quiet, didn’t i?” Sandor asked in his usual low voice, making your body shiver slightly.

“I’m sorry.” You said quickly, hoping that Sandor would see past it. Unfortunately, he didn’t.

“If i tell you to stay quiet, you stay quiet. Understood?” Sandor asked while wrapping one of his hands around your throat.

“Yes sir.” You answered while wrapping both of your hands around his arm which was currently choking you.

“Good girl.” Praised Sandor before going back to fucking you. “You look so pretty underneath me.” Sandor smirked while pounding into you.

“I could fuck you for hours.” Grunted Sandor while grabbing one of your breasts with his other hand.

You could only moan at his filthy words. Of course you did it as quiet as possible, not wanting people to find out about your little secret affair with the Hound.

“S-Sandor i think i’m close.” You managed to say between moans while you arched your back as best as you could.

“Oh yeah? Is my little princess about to come?” Asked Sandor while deepening his thrusts. You rapidly nodded while closing your eyes in pleasure.

“Go on then, milk my cock like a good little girl.” Smirked Sandor while tightening his grip on your throat.

You did as you were told and released all over Sandor’s cock, causing him to grunt as he felt your juices running down his length.

“Such a good little girl.” Praised Sandor as he leaned down to sloppily kiss your lips. “Only for you.” You smiled shyly before kissing him back.

Sandor slowed his thrusts, wanting to help you ride out your orgasm before chasing his own release.

So when Sandor was sure you rode out your orgasm, he sped up his thrusts again, wanting to come as well.

“I’m gonna come.” Announced Sandor with a grunt while burying his head in your neck. “Fill me up Sandor.” You whispered into his ear, sending him over the edge.

“O-oh fuck!” Groaned Sandor as he came inside of you, filling your cunt with his seed.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you. Sandor placed a few kisses behind your ear before pulling his cock out of you.

You watched how he tried to get up from the bed, so you quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back into you, causing him to chuckle while kissing your cheek.

“I have to clean you up princess.” Sandor chuckled while looking into your eyes. You rolled your eyes at his words which caused Sandor to laugh even more.

“Don’t call me that!” You groaned while covering your face with your hands. “What? A princess?” Asked Sandor with a smirk.

“Yes! You know i hate it when you call me that. Especially in private.” You told Sandor while pouting at him. “I apologize.” Said Sandor with a slight smile before really getting out of bed.

You watched how he collected a washcloth before climbing back into bed. “Come here girl.” Sandor said while pulling you closer by your ankles.

You slightly spread your legs and watched how Sandor began to clean the inside of your thighs. When he was done, he threw the washcloth away before laying down, pulling you against him.

You immediately nuzzled into his side while wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Thank you for this.” You whispered while looking up at Sandor. Sandor snorted slightly before leaning down to kiss you.

“You’re welcome princess.”

“Don’t call me that!”

(A/N): I am so sorry for the bad ending😭 i was really tired when i wrote this so i kinda wanted to finish it as fast as possible. I still hope you all liked it though! Thank you for reading <3

Fill out the tag-list form on my blog if you like to get tagged in more Sandor Clegane content!

[atomic--peach]

Her Grace's Handmaiden

Imagine being Queen Cersei's favorite handmaiden Pt.2

AO3 VERSION: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48276340

(Cersei x fem reader, slight Sandor x fem reader if you like it like that. I've decided this is going to be a series that will go into smutty territory eventually, but it'll definitely be a slow burn)

The ride north was an unforgiving one. Being lowborn, you had only admired horses from afar before being expected to ride in the Queen's entourage. Side saddle riding protected your modesty and spared your thighs the chafing that the Male riders suffered, but your lower back and shoulders ached all the same.

The queen rode in a lavish carriage with her three children, guarded closely on either side by Ser Jaime and Sandor Clegane.

Due to your inexperience riding and your new found favor with her grace, you were instructed to ride along side The Hound, who was under orders to keep any eye on you and intervene if the mare beneath you proved too rowdy.

It was clear that The Hound resented this duty, already having to keep an eye on the young Prince Joffery, who alternated between riding in the carriage and mounting his own steed. A bright white and rowdy gelding that was the torment of the other horses in the party. It nipped and whinied, trotting circles around the group in a foppish, showy manner.

The Hound, on the other hand, mounted a broad bodied horse that was black as midnight with a coal grey mane named Stranger.

As the prince took another lap, the white gelding nipped at the hindquarters of your mare for what must have been the fifth or sixth time that day. The mare, tired and frustrated with this harassment, finally decided to voice her displeasure by baying loudly and bouncing her back legs enough to bounce you around.

"No, no Girl. Whoa, stop stop stop" you squealed, pulling at the reins with as much force as you dared but the horse was too fed up to mind.

"Stop! Stop the carriage" a firm and regal voice put a halt to the party as Clegane snatched the reigns from your grasp and managed to settle the mare back into submission.

"Mother's Mercy!" A gruff voice growled, accompanied by the heavy trot of hooves. King Robert's face was red as a cherry from drink and frustration as he glared at the queen. "If you keep holding us up, Winterfell will be snowed in before we even get there!"

"I apologize, Your Grace" You bowed your head, face flushed with embarrassment. "It was my fault, I failed to control my mount. My deepest apologies."

Robert's eyes rolled nearly back to his skull with a begrudging sigh before flinging a finger at Clegane.

"You, Hound, let the girl ride with you and have that beast tethered to a wagon"

He tossed a glare back at the queen, a look which said 'you just had to bring her, didn't you?' Before returning to his place in the party.

"I'm sorry" you nearly whispered, tailing the gargantuan man as he tether the horse in brooding silence.

Heading back to Stranger, you nearly cried out as Clegane snatched the softness of your arm and all but dragged you up onto the horse in front of him. His grip was bruising and you had to force yourself not to rub the part where he snatched you like a hawk snatches a rabbit.

"Not one word" he growled "or I'll toss you from this horse and let you walk to Winterfell."

You rode until dusk, and your body didn't relax until you were safely once again on solid ground.

Once again, The Hound dismounted first before he gripped you by the waist, hard fingers pressing into the soft flesh under your riding clothes, and all but dragged you off the horse where you landed with a wobble of your knees.

"Y/N, To me" your mistress called and you rushed to her side immediately.

"Yes, Your Grace" your curtsey suffered from the weakness in your legs, but the Queen hardly seemed to notice.

"You had us worried there" She looked down at you with unreadable eyes, "You'll have to improve your riding if you wish to keep up"

"I will, Your Grace. Thank you"

"Take my things inside" she motioned vaguely to the inn at which you had stopped for the night. "Just follow King Robert's squire, he'll show you. Then come back for the children's things"

"Immediately, Your Grace"

The work was arduous, and by the time you finished it was past dark. The inn provided food and housing for the higher members of the entourage, but at The Queen's insistence you were to sleep at the foot of her bed as you did in The Red Keep.

Robert was apathetic to this. Ser Jaime, to your surprise, seemed genuinely disappointed by this and approached the queen when they thought they had a moment in private, not knowing you were settling the queen in as they spoke

"Don't worry" Cersei assured him "I'll just send her out"

-----------

After dinner, you tended to your queen with great care. Standing behind her as she sat on the edge of the plush feather bed, you gently pulled a comb through her golden locks, picking out any snags with extreme tenderness.

"Y/N, tonight my brother will be coming by to discuss some family matters and I want you out of the way."

"Of course, your grace." You complied, satisfied with this explanation. Of course she wouldn't want you around when they discussed Lannister matters.

"And..." She turned slightly, looking up at you through her lashes in a way that made your breath catch in your chest. "Be a good girl, and don't mention this to anyone. It's my business, and I expect you to keep it that way"

"Not a word, Your Grace" Your face began to flush as her long, slender hand grasped your small, common one.

"Not even to The King"

"The King?" You paused, confused why the king would inquire about such a thing in the first place. "Yes, your grace. Not even to the King. I swear it"

Cersei's face softened at this and, to your great shock, raised your hand to her face and allowed it to stroke her cheek gently.

"What would I do without you?" She breathed before letting your hand drop back to your side and turning back around so you could finish combing out her hair.

You carried the high of her touch through the evening and even when she sent you away. You curtisied to Jaime primly before slipping outside back to the wagons.

Aimless, you went to the stables where the horses had been bedded down for the night, glancing into each stall curiously until you found the mare you had ridden earlier.

Her tawny coat had been brushed and her white snout was buried in a pail of oats.

"Hello" you greeted her in a small voice. "I'm sorry about before, it wasn't your fault"

The horse snorted at you in an apathetic manner, flicking the flies off with her tail.

"Don't talk to horses" a gruff voice scolded you from down the stable hall.

You jumped, having believed you were alone, before craning you head to see who spoke.

"Why not?" You eyed The Hound with flushed cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught.

"Because it makes you look mad" he grumbled. "No one wants a mad handmaid"

"Well" you sputtered as he approached you from Stranger's stall, "It wasnt her fault. It was that gelding that kept biting her"

"It wasn't her fault, you're right" he stopped, towering over you like a shadow. "It was your fault"

"What?"

"That mare is the most patient thing in this barn, trained to handle children and unskilled little fools like you." He leaned against the wood of the stall with his arms crossed firmly. "If you'd just kept your calm like any person with half a brain would, she would have listened to you"

"I do so have a brain" You raged. Where did he get off being so disrespectful when all you'd been was polite?

"Doubt it" The hound scoffed "The queen does all your thinking for you, she's got your brain tucked away in all those trunks somewhere."

"Why I-" you gasped "All I have ever done is my very best for Her Grace's comfort and happiness. If My Lady has any issue with the way I serve her, she will not hesitate to let me know"

"I'll bet" a cruel smirk spread across Sandor's face. "And they call me the hound. What a well trained little bitch she has in you."

The slap came on reflex, fueled by indignant rage that fled your body as quickly as it came. The blood drained from your face as the Hound's gaze trained on you with a low growl.

"You get one of those. Only one. Next time you even think about raising hand to me, I'll tear it off and beat you with it"

You nodded slowly, closing your eyes as if bracing for a strike until Clegane let out a slow exhale.

"Run back to your mistress, little girl. And don't let me see your face until morning."

You did exactly that, hovering in the hallway of your lady's room until Ser Jaime slipped out quietly and tried to sneakily return to his own before stopping in his tracks at the sight of you.

You curtisied and kept your head down until your chin was jerked up suddenly, making you flinch. Jaime's eyes studied your face, smoothing his thumb over your cheek to wipe away a stream of tears. You'd been crying and didn't even realize it.

"Do I need to do something about this?" The head of the kingsgaurd asked, knowing you fully got his meaning.

"No" you shook you head and wiped away what was left of your tears with your palm. "No Ser, I am fine. Thank you'

Jaime nodded. "My sister is waiting for you"

"Yes, Ser" you breathed, trying to right yourself before letting your lady see you. "Thank you, Ser"

You watched him go, steadying your breath and wiping your eyes one last time before returning to your post

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

A Good, Mean, Dog

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Baratheon!Reader

Warnings: none really, obvious age gap but to be fair i think he’s supposed to be slightly younger in the books

Words: 2921

Summary: The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be.

Sequel: The Doe That Chases the Hound

You gaze up at your ever radiant mother. To all of Westeros she was a great beauty and to her enemies, a force to be reckoned with. Regardless, Cersei Lannister was your mother. She showed contempt for everyone except her children. Call the woman what you will, but Cersei loved her children fiercely. Including you, the only dark haired child among heads covered with fine, golden hair. The only sign that you had come out of Cersei’s womb were your vivid green eyes; Lannister green. You would’ve liked the golden hair of your siblings, then you wouldn’t get odd looks when all four of you were together. None were more scrutinizing than the ones that were received from your uncle Jaime. There appeared to be a question in those emerald pools of his, a question he never verbally asked. He’d offer you distant smiles then would go about his business. Because of this standoffish behavior you preferred your stunted uncle Tyrion, much to your mother’s chagrin. He was much more kinder than Jaime. Your mother didn’t like you spending so much time around her dwarf brother. She told you many times if you wanted to learn something to go to Maester Pycelle, not you drunken uncle. You didn’t like Pycelle for various reasons; one of them being that it always looked like his wrinkled gaze was concentrated on your bosom. Besides, you were looking for a surrogate father-figure. Much like your mother, Robert Baratheon treated all his children equally in the manner that he didn’t pay you any mind either. He wasn’t the fathering type which unfortunately led the terror that is known as Joffrey, run wild and for you to try and fill the void. Cersei claimed very often that Tyrion killed her mother, your grandmother, but you knew that Tyrion didn’t do it knowingly. He had been just a newborn. Newborns didn’t spring from the womb with a dagger in hand. Your mother, you knew, was very stubborn and unreasonable.

In the dark cellars under the Red Keep, you found yourself exploring with your uncle as he showed you a room filled with skulls. Not human skulls though; dragons. They varied in size and there were a few that you could hold in your hand.

“As the centuries went on, the Targaryens chained their dragons up. But dragons need freedom and large areas in order to grow. Without those, the dragons that were able to hatch never grew any larger than a cat.” Tyrion waddled beside you as your fingers felt the smoothness of the skull. With torch in hand he ventured further until you came across a dragon skull that nearly reached the ceiling. You stare at it in awe. “Now that, my dear, is Balerion. They called him the Black Dread. He was the largest dragon to ever live in Westeros. Do you recall the other two dragons which rode with him to battle?”

You think for a moment. “Meraxes and. . . I want to say the other starts with a ‘V’. Um. . . Vhagar?”

Tyrion nods. “Very good.”

“If his skull was this big, imagine his wing span!” You grin which makes Tyrion smile at your enthusiasm. Growing sad at the thought that you would never see a live dragon with your own eyes, you put down the small skull that you had been holding. “Why didn’t they see that captivity was killing them?”

Tyrion regards you kindly and pats your hand. “Because men are selfish creatures. Without dragons, the Targaryens were just like everyone else.” Leading you out of the dark room, you wince at the light.

“Balerion was the one who forged the Iron Throne, right?”

“That is correct.” You continued to speak of dragons, enjoying your leisurely stroll with your uncle. That is until you bumped into your brother.

“You shouldn’t waste your time with the likes of the Imp, sweet sister.” In a condescending manner, Joffrey looks down at his uncle. “Shouldn’t you be in a whore house drunk off your dwarf ass? I’m surprised you’re still sober.” Joff sneers, his lips curling in an unflattering manner while his sworn sword looms behind him like a menacing shadow. The Hound, they called him. Your brother’s loyal dog. There was only one other man who stood taller than Sandor Clegane and that was his brother Gregor whom was called the Mountain for that reason. They were both equally terrifying; Gregor more so than his younger brother.

“That’s not very polite Joffrey. You are to be future king and a king should not speak like such a rotten brat.” Scowling at your younger brother you wished your mother had had the nerve to spank him to correct his terrible attitude. However, Joffrey was her golden son; one who could do no harm. She was blind to the monster he was.

His cheeks turn red. Now he’s glaring at you. “Once I’m king I can do whatever I want. Remember that. I won’t have to listen to a stupid woman like you.”

Fingers twitching, you took a step forward. He instinctively backs away, fear shining in the pools of moss that were his eyes. Joffrey knew you weren’t afraid to strike him. You had done it once before, but your mother quickly gave you a good scolding.

“I-I’ll tell mother.” He squeaks.

“Go ahead. She’ll tell father and he’ll just laugh at you again.” You noticed Sandor watching with slight amusement at the altercation. You wondered if he would try to stop you if you went through with slapping him.

Your uncle clears his throat. “Now children, we must learn to get along.” He holds your hand and gazes at you warmly with his mismatched eyes. “Thank you for defending me, but I can handle Joffrey’s quips. I’m sure your mother would not be pleased to find out that her children were quarreling again.”

“Uncle. . .”

Tyrion kisses the back of your hand. “I must go. I have other business to attend to.” He glances back at Joffrey and the Hound before he leaves.

“What is there to possibly talk about anyway with that misshapen creature?” Joffrey spat.

You shoot him a withering glare. Without answering you turn on your heels in a huff and walk away. But that’s not the end of it. Joffrey continues to follow you.

“I wasn’t done talking to you.”

“Well I was. What’s wrong? Don’t you have some poor animal to mutilate?” You say over your shoulder. He must be bored. And a bored Joffrey is never a good thing.

Ever the loyal dog, Sandor follows after Joffrey as the blonde haired prince continues to pester you. When Joffrey opens his mouth to reply you cut him off.

“Don’t you ever get tired of following him around like that?” You address the question towards Sandor, completely ignoring your brother.

Instead of letting Sandor answer, Joffrey pipes up. “He’s my dog. He’ll do whatever I say without complaint. I think he’ll even hit you if I told him to.” You knew it was meant as a threat but you let out a loud scoff making Joff turn red again.

“They must pay you an awful lot to follow around a twat like my brother.” You hear Joffrey inhale sharply as the Hound lets out a chuckle. You knew you shouldn’t have said that word out loud, it wasn’t lady-like. If your mother heard you say it she’d know immediately where you learned it from and would probably ban your Uncle Tyrion from the Red Keep.

You look over your shoulder and smirk at your brother’s fish-like expression. “Perhaps you should be wearing the sigil of House Tully, Joff. You look like a trout right now.”

If looks could kill you were sure you’d be dead already. It gave you immense pleasure to see the utter hate on your brother’s face. Head held high in triumph, you left him to fume.

*

“(y/n)!”

You’re surprised at who is calling you. Robert Baratheon is outside enjoying the weather while under the shade of an awning. You try to ease the look of shock off your face. “Yes father?”

A meaty hand motions for you to where he is. You’d heard that your father used to be incredibly handsome. Now, however, you found it hard to believe. His face grew red at the simplest of physical tasks and his large belly showed how much he enjoyed the finer things in life.

Several Gold Cloaks, including your Uncle Jaime surrounded him. The only time King Robert was ever alone was when he was with his whores.

You flush at the thought when you approach him. He looks up at you with deep blue eyes; Baratheon eyes. “Good gods where has the time gone. You’re a grown woman now. Your mother used to turn heads as well.” Whenever he spoke of his wife it always held a scornful undertone. “You didn’t even notice, did you?”

Your eyebrows scrunch. “Notice what?”

He laughs. “Bling and beautiful. Many men would value that in a woman.”

Anger licked the walls of your stomach. He knew nothing about you. You were definitely not blind. You knew what he did behind closed doors.

King Robert points to where you had just been. There were a few guards walking about. Nothing unusual about that. “They were staring you down like a succulent piece of meat.”

You blush and that makes him laugh louder. Fingers curling into your palm, you continued to feel ridiculed by him.

’Blind and beautiful.’

“Best way to stop that is by marrying you off. You’re old enough for marriage, right?”

’Fat bastard doesn’t even know how old I am.’

You nod.

He settles back into his cushions and takes a long gulp from his chalice. Wine dribbles down onto his beard. “Been thinking about setting you up with Ned Stark’s eldest boy. I think he’s about your age. Your mother wouldn’t have it though. Says it’s not necessary to marry two children off to Starks.” Robert Baratheon shakes his head. “What does she know?”

You’d have to thank your mother later. You didn’t want to go to the north. You’d heard how cold it gets over there and how dreary it was.

Robert heaves a sigh. “Children are such a hassle.”

’Then why are you talking to me?’

“Off you go then. Be more wary of your surroundings next time.” He pats you on the shoulder and shoos you away. Sadness enters his speech. “Wouldn’t want you to end up like Lyanna.”

Yes. Lyanna. The woman he still yearned for after all this time. The one he’d started a war for.

Kidnapped, raped, and killed.

Definitely wouldn’t want to end up like her. You left your father so that he could gorge himself on more wine and food.

You bounced slightly on top of your mare, smiling as you heard Myrcella squeal in delight. Watching as she had her horse take another jump, her gold tresses flying in the breeze. Under a grove of trees your mother clapped. She looked even more lovely when she genuinely smiled. Tommen followed behind Myrcella on his pony. The bars had to be lowered since the pony couldn’t jump too high. You and your sister cheer for your baby brother as he jumps the hurdle. Joffrey rolls his eyes while on his own mount.

“That was nothing.” He scoffs and to prove his point he has the stable hands set them at the highest bar. He jumps them easily and grins cockily. You pretend that you didn’t see and continue to lavish Tommen with praise.

“You’re going to be a great joister Tommen!” Myrcella chimes in.

Tommen’s round face blushes, but he’s smiling from ear to ear. You wished Joffrey had turned out like Tommen. Your youngest brother was to sweet for words and you loved him dearly. Every so often you would wake up to find him curled up beside you in your bed.

“Yes, I can see it now! I bet you’ll unhorse Uncle Jaime some day.” You nod.

“He’s too fat to joist!” Joffrey argued, hating that the attention wasn’t on him.

That’s when Cersei spoke up. “Don’t say mean things like that Joff. He’s your brother.”

Upset he got off his horse and stomped off to the sidelines, not before fixing a glare toward you.

You wanted to stick your tongue out at him, but your mother was in sight. So, instead you had your mare trot tauntingly in front of him. “Don’t be like that Joff. You’re just cranky. I think you’re overdue for your nap.” You turned Blue Moon away from him. Perhaps it was your own fault for antagonizing him further then turning your back on him, but the next thing you knew you heard something hit your horse; making her shriek and rear up on her hind legs. You hear your mother scream as you struggle to regain control of Blue Moon. Once she has all four hooves back on the ground she’s charging blindly in all directions and scaring the other horses.

All around you became a blur and as you duck your head trying to stay on her. You catch more of your mother screaming for someone to help you. Galloping beside you, you’re able to discern them as the Hound. He makes a grab for your horse’s reins and curses when he can’t reach. On top of his own horse he lunges again and successfully grabs hold. Blue Moon resists at first until other stable boys go to calm her down. Sandor’s strong arms lift you out of your saddle like you weighed nothing and sat you in front of him on his own horse.

“You’re alright now.” He whispers to you.

You didn’t even realize you had been shaking until your back pressed against his chest. Thick arms cage you in as he turns his horse around to where your mother and siblings stood. Alarmed guards had also flocked to the yard, quite useless as they were now. The Hound gets off first and helps you down. You look at his face, his dark eyes making your skin heat up. The scar that plagued the right side of his face in full view as he made sure you were safely on your feet. You felt like a doll when he handled you.

Cersei rushes to you, fear having drained the color on her face. “Are you alright? Did you get hurt?” If only everyone else could see this side of your mother. The fretting hen. Next to her, Myrcella looked to be on the verge of tears.

Urging a smile onto your face you say “I’m fine mother, thanks to Sandor.” You shoot him a grateful smile that has him turning his face away. He mumbled something incoherent and went back to where Joffrey stood. Joff’s nose scrunches and he turns away.

You notice your mom staring after Joffrey as well, her face unreadable before she turns back to you. Her palm cups your cheek. “Let’s go inside for the evening.”

Obediently you follow her back inside. After supper you made your way back to your room, tired after what had happened that day. Behind you are the subtle sounds of footsteps thumping behind you. You half expected it to be Tommen but they sound too heavy.

“Here to escort me to my room?” You ask once you see it was the Hound. “Might as well. I’m partly worried that Joffrey will pop up from the shadows and kill me.”

“So you knew it was him.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. He had seen Joffrey throw a rock at Blue Moon’s rear. You hadn’t seen him do it yourself, but you had expected as much. When you nod Sandor growls. “That little cunt.”

You chuckle. “Careful. Don’t want anyone to hear you call the future king that.”

“What a terrible king he’ll be.”

“Gods help us all.” Like last time when you smile up at him he turns his face away so that you saw the side of his face that was damaged. “Thank you again for today. Really, you saved me while everyone else was scratching their ass.”

Sandor laughs. “A lady like you shouldn’t use words like that. You’re a princess.”

“Would that make you my knight in shining armor?”

That perpetual brooding face of his returns as he looks at you with serious eyes. “I’m no knight.”

“No. I suppose you’re not. You’re better than a knight. You’re a dog.”

He appears taken aback by your statement. You didn’t know why but his confused expression had your heart pounding. When you reach your room you bid him good night, not before asking him what he wanted in return for saving you.

“I don’t want nothin’.” He merely says.

Why was your heart racing? “Not even a kiss from a maiden fair?” You partly said it as a joke, half hoping he’d actually want to kiss you.

He eyes you warily, unsure of how to respond. “This isn’t a face made for kissing maidens.”

You knew many others in his position would take up the offer in seconds. Either he didn’t find you attractive of he truly wanted you to preserve your virtue. Trying to hide your disappointment you shrug your shoulders. “Suit yourself. My offer still stands whenever you want it though.”

Alone in your room you slump to the ground, your hands touching your burning face.

The Princess and the Hound. What a story that would be.

[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.”

[vikingstoner69]

Sandor/reader: After the Battle

Fandom: Game of thones 

Parining: Sandor/reader

Summery: The battle is over and now at the party you try to see sandor but sansa beats you to him. what happens when he follows you to your room? 

Smut!!!!!

I  Your legs shook and your lungs burned from the cold. The war was over the night King was gone along with his army. Leaving behind a battlefield of fallen friends and family. 

It was now time to drink and party. While drinking you see Sandor and head over there to him but Sansa beats you to him and you feel your heart drop. You sigh and go back to drinking. You look back at the table to see Sandor looking right at you. 

Sometime later without saying a word you leave the party and head to your room. You sigh when you get in the room and close the door. You were finally alone, or so you thought. 

"You've been avoiding me little wolf" you hear his voice and you look to where he sat. 

"I have no idea what you mean, I'm just tired" you say without looking at him. You stand on the other side of the room. 

"You're a shit liar, ya know that?" He grunts as he stands up and walks till he is in front of you. Your body tenses And you feel the tears sting your eyes. 

"I'm sure Sansan will be missing you, maybe you should go back to her" you say softly but there was an edge to your voice. You were tipsy and you were hurt. 

"Look at me little wolf" he says, you shake your head slightly and bite your lip.

"Just go back to the party" you tell him, your voice soft and shaky noting how it had been moments ago. You hear him growl and then you feel his rough fingers under your chin making you look at him. You tried to blink the tears away but it was too late some had fallen. He swipes them away with his thumb and sighs. 

"I don't want her," he says, his voice rough. His brown eyes stare into yours making your heart speed up.

"Oh really? You two were looking pretty cozy to me" you snap moving your head out of his grip. Any softness you had was now gone, hurt and anger was what you felt. He growls and pins you to the wall. He shoves his knee between your legs and thrusts up so you are sitting on his knee and you cry out at the pleasure. 

"You really think I want her? You really think she could handle me? I'd break her. Besides little wolf I don't- oh for fucks sake!" He snaps and pulls your face to his and he kisses you deeply his fingers tangle in your hair and you moan kissing him back just as deeply. 

His lips travel down your neck and he bites your neck hard marking you as his. You moan your hips grinding down on his knee and you bite your lip. 

Sandor rips your shirt off. You look up at him and reach for his shirt and he helps you pull it off. You lean up and kiss him deeply, your hands tugging in his hair. He growls and lifts you up, making you wrap your legs around his waist. 

Your nails dig in his shoulders as he grinds hard into you as he sucks and bites your neck. 

"Sandor please" you moan, you were soaking wet for him. He chuckles into your neck. 

"What do ya want little wolf?" He growls in your ear making you shiver and your nipples harden. His one hand moves to your breasts and he rolls the hard nub making you moan. 

"You! Please fuck me! Make me yours, so everyone will know" you moan out and he growls and your back leaves the wall and you are now laying on the bed with sandor hovering over you. You lean up and kiss him deeply. Sandors lips travel down your neck to your breasts and he sucks a nipple into his mouth making you moan. He bites your nipple as he tugs your pants off leaving you naked under him.

"You're soaking wet little wolf" he grins as he rubs your clit making your hips thrust up and you moan. He slips a finger inside your tight heat making you cry out and reach for him. 

"Sandor!" You moan and bite your lip trying to keep quiet. 

“Your so tight” he groans, as he fucks you with his fingers. You close your eyes as your head falls back on your pillow. Your eyes fly open as you feel his hot wet mouth on your cunt making you cry out and your hands tug his hair as he eats your cunt like its the best meal he had ever had. He holds your hips still his hold tight letting you know there will be marks in the morning. 

“Cum on my tongue I want to soak my beard” he growls looking up  at you from between your legs before sucking your clit in his mouth. 

“Fuck! Sandor '' you cry out as he sucks and bites your clit you feel your climex crash into you like a wave and you scarem out his name. He grins up at you as you pant he kisses up your body till he reaches your liips and he kisses you deeply making you moan with your taste on his tounge and lips. You moan and reach down rubbing his covered cock making him groan. As you undo them and set his hard cock. You wrap your hand around his cock feeling his lenught and you lean up and push lightly on his chest for him to lay on his back. 

“What ya doin little wolf?” he says looking up at you. You bite your lip as you tug off his pants and you grab his cock. 

"I've gotten myself off thinking about sucking your cock so many times' ' you grin as you lick his balls to tip before sucking the head in your mouth and you moan around him. 

"Seven hells!" He groans his big hand on the back of your head. You look up at him and take him even deeper. You suck hard and moan. Sandor holds your head still and thrusts up in your mouth fucking your throat how he wants. You moan at the filthiness of it all.  He grunts and cums down your throat and you suck taking everything he has to give you. You pop up off his cock and lick your lips after you swallow his load. 

"You taste so good" you smirk and he takes a deep breath. And looks at you. 

"Bloody hell little wolf!" He pants and you grin and straddle his hips moaning as his cock rubs your soaked cunt.

"Fuck me sandor, please" you moan as you roll your hips. He was hard again. His hands go to your hips and he holds them tightly. He flips you onto your back and your head hits the pillow. Sandor kisses you deeply and bites your lip making you gasp. He kisses down your neck and he nips up to your ear. 

"When I make you cum on my cock I want you to scream my name" he growls in your ear making you moan. Sandor grabs his cock and rubs it through your folds making you cry out. 

"Sandor!" You cry out your hands going to his shoulders, your nails leaving little marks. Sandor grunts as he slowly slides in making your head falls back showing him your neck fully as he fills you full. Sandors head lands on your shoulder and he bites leaving a mark making your cunt tighten around him. 

"Fuck! You're bloody tight! Look at me little wolf, look at me as I fuck you" be growls and thrusts into you hard. Making you cry out your nails digging into his back making him growl. 

"Fuck! Fuck sandor, choke me" you moan he grunts as his hand gose around your throat and you moan and thrust your hips up. He growls and flips you to your hands and knees and thrusts back into you hard and deep. He slaps your ass hard and you thrust back into him taking him even deeper. 

"You're mine!" He snarls as he pulls your head back pounding into you. He smacks your ass again making you cry out. 

 "Feels so good! I'm so close!" You moan loudly. Sandor pulls out making you whine at the loss of him and he flips you on your back once again. He thrusts back in and you moan. You lean up and kiss him, flipping him on his back, your hands going to his chest. 

"You fill me up so fully, I love how your cock feels" you moan as you roll your hips, his cock fills you and you slowly ride him with a smirk on your face. 

"It's not nice to tease love" he grunts through his teeth as you roll your hips slowly. Your hands grab your breasts and moan as he slaps your ass hard. 

"Ooh but it's fun" you moan as you pick up speed and then slow down. He growls and pins you down, his hand going around your throat and he pounds into you hard and fast making you scarem out and cling to him. 

"How fun is it now" he snarls fucking you so hard the bed moves with each thrust.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum!" You cry out feeling so close to the edge. He growls and rubs your clit. 

"Cum on my cock!" He snarls as he rubs your clit hard and fast, sending you over the edge. Your cunt clamps on his cock and he cusses loudly.

"Seven hells!" You grunts as he cums hard deep inside of you. Sandor rolls onto his back panting and you look over at him. 

"Better" you pant an roll to your side laying your head on his chest and he pulls you into him. 

"What?" He grunts his heart beat finally slowing down and you look up at him then kiss his chest. 

"This was better than I imagined it" you say his fingers run down your back making you shiver. 

"You think about me often?" He smirks as he strokes your back and you bite your lip trying to hold back your moan. And in the blink of an eye sandor was back over type of you. Your legs wrapping around his waist. 

"Yes!" You cry out biting your lip as he sucks marks into your neck. 

"Don't be quiet little wolf, I want to hear you" he says, grabbing your breast with his free hand and you moan. As he slides his hard cock back into you. 

"Sandor! Fuck!" You moan as he rolls his hips deeply into you. Sandors hold on you was hard and tight. Your hands reach and touch every bit of him you could. 

"I'm no way near done with little wolf, we are just getting started" he growls in your ear making you moan. And he was not joking he didn't let you sleep till the early morning. 

[ohmy-zabrak]

🌙 Have this part of my wip because we need more silly Hound content 🌙

"Oh, have a cock do you?" The Hound snorts.

"I do, it's massive. Bigger than your's even."

To Bronn and Tyrion's surprise...the Hound giggles. "Let's see it then."

The sound of rustling blankets through the wall.

"No, he's shy," Lady Alice says. "Knock it off, you're scaring him!" She giggles.

The sounds of wrestling.

"There's no cock here-"

Alice yelps but it turns into a moan.