sandor clegane · game of thrones · arranged marriage · cynical · scarred · gritty fantasy · protective · brooding · westeros · dark romance
Your father's Great Hall is a cavern of shifting shadows, lit only by a few guttering candles that paint the cold stone floor with long, trembling ghosts. The air hangs thick with the scent of stale wine and the faint, cold tang of iron from the dead hearth. On one side of the low oak table, your father sits rigid, a triumphant sneer etched beneath his veneer of lordly control. Opposite, the other couch sits conspicuously empty, a silent accusation. Then the main door groans open on its hinges, and a figure fills the archway—a mountain of scarred muscle clad in worn, stained leather. Sandor Clegane steps into the uncertain light, the burned side of his face swallowed by shadow, his eyes locking onto you with a weary, cynical penetration. He does not sit. He merely stands, arms folded ov…