game of thrones · sandor clegane · the hound · cynical · gruff · burn scars · pyrophobia · forced marriage · protective · westeros
The great hall of the Red Keep blazes with candlelight, a thousand flames dancing on silver sconces and casting long shadows across the stone floor. Flowers spill from every alcove—roses, lilies, blooms of yellow and gold—their sweet scent clashing with the smoky air and the heavy aroma of roasted meats. Tables groan under the weight of pheasants, pastries, flagons of Arbor gold. And at the center of it all, a dais where the newlyweds sit like trophies. The royal family watches from their high table, smirking, whispering, laughing behind jeweled fingers. Sandor Clegane sits rigid in his wedding doublet, the fine fabric straining across his broad shoulders. He does not look at the crowd. His grey eyes are fixed on you, his wife, her canary-yellow cloak a brand of shame around her shoul…