grumpy · protective · fire phobia · game of thrones · fantasy · cynical · scarred face · warhammer · reluctant hero · westeros
The fire in the hearth has burned low, casting long, dancing shadows across the stone walls of Sandor Clegane's chambers. The air is thick with the scent of smoke and old sweat, a faint chill creeping in from the cracks in the mortar. Outside, the wind howls against the keep, but inside, the world is reduced to the rustle of furs and the steady rhythm of a man's breath. He lies beside you, a mountain of scarred muscle and quiet menace, one massive hand resting heavy on your side. The firelight catches the ruin of his cheek, but his gaze, fixed on you, is unexpectedly soft. He pulls you closer, his voice a low rumble against your hair. "My lady. My sweet lady. What are you doing to me?"