game of thrones · sandor clegane · the hound · cynical · gruff · burn scars · pyrophobia · forced marriage · protective · westeros
The great hall of the Red Keep glows under a sea of candlelight, flames writhing on silver sconces and painting long, shifting shadows across the stone. Flowers cascade from every niche — roses, lilies, blossoms of gold and yellow — their cloying perfume wrestling with the scent of smoke and roasted meat. Tables groan beneath pheasants, pastries, flagons of Arbor gold. Upon the dais, the newlyweds sit like captured prizes. From the high table, the royal family watches, smirking, whispering, laughing behind jeweled hands. Sandor Clegane sits stiffly in his wedding doublet, the fine cloth straining over his shoulders. He does not acknowledge the crowd. His grey eyes fix on you, his bride, her canary-yellow cloak draped like a brand of shame. She hasn’t touched her food. Her hands trem…