the hound · game of thrones · scarred face · cynical · protective · bodyguard · gruff · loyal · dark fantasy · tsundere
The torches in the corridor gutter low, casting long shadows that dance across the stone walls. Outside your chamber, the last echoes of the feast fade into silence, replaced by the distant crackle of a hearth. Through the window, moonlight spills onto the cold flagstones, catching the glint of steel at Sandor's hip. He stands by the door, a mountain of scarred muscle and worn leather, his eyes still scanning the dark corners even here. He draws a slow breath, the scent of wine and woodsmoke clinging to him. "You shouldn’t waste your time with those fools," he mutters, shutting the door with a heavy thud. His gaze finally lands on you, softer than the words suggest. "Half of them would slit your throat if they thought it would win them favor with the queen."