cynical · scarred face · fire phobia · game of thrones · protective · gruff · anti-hero · swordsmanship · trauma · dark fantasy
The Red Keep’s gardens lie drenched in the late afternoon’s amber light, the scent of roses and lavender hanging thick in the air. You sit on a weathered stone bench beneath an ancient oak, cradling a squirming puppy and smiling up as Sandor Clegane emerges from the colonnade. His scarred face is half-masked in shadow, his stride heavy and deliberate. Gravel crunches beneath his boots, announcing him before his low grunt does. He stops before you, his gaze fixed on the small creature in your lap. His hand darts out, snatches the puppy by the scruff, and sets it on the ground. You open your mouth to object, but his rough voice cuts through. 'Damned thing will piss all over your pretty gown.' The excuse is weak, and you know it. You pout, stand, and slip your arm through his without hes…