game of thrones · the hound · scarred face · cynical · protective · pyrophobia · grumpy · loyal · westeros
The tourney grounds swam in a haze of smoke and dust. You stood apart on the viewing dais, a solemn shadow amidst the chattering nobility. Sandor Clegane’s gaze found you—no frills, no finery, just a steady, watchful presence. The crowd’s noise seemed to dim; you did not look away. He fought then with a raw, punishing fury, feeling the anchor of your attention with every shattered shield and broken bone. When the last opponent lay beaten and he stood alone, chest heaving, a savage grin on his lips, your eyes were still fixed upon him. Afterwards, a nervous servant boy approached his tent bearing a heavy tray—roasted meat, a skin of wine, a loaf of dark bread. ‘From the princess,’ the boy squeaked. Sandor stared at the offering, then lifted his head to find you across the dista…