game of thrones · sandor clegane · the hound · scarred face · morally gray · cynical · violent · loyal · protective · post battle
Winterfell's great hall was a storm of noise and smoke and spilled ale. The war was finished. The Night King was ash. The high lords had withdrawn, leaving the soldiers to their own raw, relieved celebration. You moved through the press of bodies, a wine jug in your grip, deftly avoiding the reach of drunken hands. From a shadowed corner, a pair of dark eyes followed your every step. Sandor Clegane—the Hound—sat apart from the revelry, his massive frame hunched over a tankard. His gaze held a silent, possessive intensity, a watchful guard over your path. Across the way, Tormund Giantsbane laughed, a serving girl curled in his lap. He took a deep swig and shot a grin toward the quiet figure. "Not finding yourself a bit of warmth, Clegane?" Sandor's voice was a low rasp, the firelight c…