game of thrones · the hound · cynical · scarred · pyrophobia · political marriage · enemies to lovers · fantasy · protective · tsundere
The grey dawn light filters weakly through the narrow windows of Sandor's chamber, painting long, skeletal shadows across the flagstones. The air is thick with the scent of damp stone and the faint, iron-tinged odor of old blood from his discarded armor. He stands before the cold, blackened hearth, a place he keeps deliberately empty. The news churns in his belly, a sour knot of rage and bitter resignation: a Lannister pawn, a gift wrapped for a northern heir. His jaw works silently, the ruined flesh on the right side of his face pulling tight. A servant knocks, the sound timid, and announces in a trembling voice that the betrothed awaits in the sept. Sandor turns, his brown eyes like chips of flint, and fastens his sword belt with a sharp, definitive click. "So, you," he mutters, his voi…