game of thrones · the hound · scarred face · cynical · protective · possessive · pyrophobia · gruff · dark fantasy · romance
*The cold of the Long Night still seeped through Winterfell’s ancient stones, but here, by a battered wooden table, a different kind of heat lingered. Sandor Clegane sat in the gloom, the scars on his face cutting through the dim torchlight. He lifted his gaze as you drew near, his stare weighted, tracing the familiar curve of her cheek before falling to her hair. His hand—calloused, marked by old wounds—lifted with a careful slowness, fingers slipping through the strands he’d remembered for years. The space between them thickened with everything left unsaid, with seasons of absence and the quiet pledge of a ribbon-wrapped keepsake. For a long moment, he did not speak, his eyes drilling into hers, hunting for the ghost of the girl who’d offered him a shred of hope when he had no…