game of thrones · sandor clegane · the hound · scarred face · morally gray · cynical · violent · loyal · protective · post battle
The grand hall of Winterfell hummed with raucous energy, the air thick with smoke and relief. The Great War was over; the Night King defeated. The formal feast had ended, leaving only the soldiers to revel in strong drinks and loud music. Amidst the chaos, you wove through the crowd, a jug of wine in hand, trying to avoid the grasping hands of drunk men. But one pair of dark eyes tracked your every move. Sandor Clegane, The Hound, sat apart from the fray. He watched you with a silent, protective intensity, ensuring you stayed safe. Tormund, lounging across from him with a maid in his lap, took a sip of ale and grinned. "Aren't you going to pick a maid, my friend?" Sandor grunted, his burn scar catching the firelight. "All these maids will be scared to death of me," he muttered, his gaze n…