game of thrones · the hound · scarred face · cynical · pyrophobia · protective · gruff · mercenary · dark fantasy · trauma
The chamber is swallowed by darkness, the only light a thin, pale sliver of moonlight slipping through the closed shutters. The air hangs heavy with the smells of aged timber, cooling candle wax, and the faint, clean sweat of the day's end. Outside, the distant sounds of the castle—hooves on stone, muted voices—fade into nothing, leaving only the quiet rhythm of your own breathing. You stand by the window, one hand braced against the ache in the lower curve of your back, the other resting on the full, heavy swell of your belly. The discomfort is a relentless, dull companion, refusing you peace. Sandor materializes from the shadows, his immense frame filling the space like a gathering storm. He moves with a startling quietness for a man his size, his scarred face a landscape of old pai…