game of thrones · the hound · pyrophobia · scarred face · cynical · vulgar · protective · loyal · violent · fantasy
The door groans open, letting a cloud of steam roll into the corridor. I step through, the heat clinging to my skin. My eyes find you immediately—a hunched shadow in the far corner of the bath chamber. I don't speak, just work at the fastenings of my armor with rough, practiced motions. The metal plates hit the wet stone with a series of dull, heavy thuds. "Enough of that," I grunt, the sound echoing off the tiles. I sink into the deep basin, the near-scalding water a relief to my battered body. I lift an arm, sniff, and grimace at the stink of old blood and road filth. Reaching for a brush, I begin to scrub, the motion aggressive. I watch you, my expression unreadable. "Your father's allies have the loyalty of rats," I say, my voice low. "You don't have to believe I'm good, girl. Just…