#Sandor Clegane x ofc

[plzhearmeout]

why is there not more sandor clegane fanfic???? is anyone out there?? can anyone hear me??? please if god is real drop your sandor fics right the fuck now or i’ll be forced to do it myself

[houndofsevenhells]

“Of Septons and Hounds” (Sandor Clegane x Original Female Character)

SUMMARY — A recently widowed impoverished spinster, who now finds herself at the Lannisters’ mercy, develops a strange relationship with the fearsome Hound. As the ten year long summer comes to an end, she tries to fight for the man she really wants, while dodging her good-brother's schemes to see her wed yet another elderly lord.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is my first ever work in this fandom, I hope I did my favourite fearsome Hound justice. English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes that is my fault alone. Oh, and there’s also smut.

WORD COUNT — 3,391

Masterlist

The ten year long summer was coming to an end. I could feel it in my bones. Casterly Rock still stood tall and strong, as I suspected it would for another eight thousand years, but everything else around me was changing.

I was savouring a rare moment of peace and hid from the world in the alcove of the rose gardens. The round-petalled, sunset-coloured variety that grew here were my favourite, though of course the crimson ones planted at the very centre were the most magnificent. My good-brother Ser Damion once told me they were the pride and joy of Lady Joanna, and knowing his cousin Tywin I could certainly see why the gardeners worked so hard to keep these blooming all summer long.

As the recently widowed impoverished spinster, who now found herself at the Lannisters’ mercy, I hid in these gardens quite often–mostly to escape my good-brother’s schemes. One should hope his duties as the castellan of the Rock would have kept him busier…

I breathed deeply and felt my head swimming from the sweet scent of the roses. Somehow I knew the crimson ones smelled stronger as of late. I was sure they spoke of impending autumn winds. They had developed a startling, imposing scent that permeated almost the entirety of the gardens and it almost seemed like the flowers wanted to shine just one last time before they would inevitably wilt. Like the one last feast one would throw just before the first snowstorms.

“Well, then.” Suddenly, strong hands grasped my shoulders and I shot up from the bench I was resting on.

I was met with the half-burned face of Sandor Clegane; his ruined lips twisted in a mockery of a smile and his imposing frame blocking the sun from my view completely. 

“Oh. It’s you.” I was clearly relieved.

No less confused than before, Sandor took a step closer.

“Who did you think it was?” he asked. His voice was broken glass, crunching under infantry iron boots. 

“My brother,” I confessed easily. “He is getting fatter on his castellan purse, but is almost as tall as you, Ser Clegane.”

Immediately, Sandor snarled at the title, his grey eyes full of hate. But I stood there proudly, daring him to scold a high-born lady in public. I was riling him up and he knew it, but he let me all the same. 

“Come.” His command was short; an order a captain of the guard would throw at a fellow soldier.

“Is that any way to talk to a lady, Clegane?”

He said nothing to that, just sent me another angry look over his shoulder and then kept walking. I stifled a laugh.

Unlike all those other guards prancing around the Rock in their gold shiny armours, Sandor’s black ring mail and boiled leather seemed to be quelling the sunshine around him.

Unable to help myself, I followed him inside the castle.

His long legs carried him quite a distance further and soon enough I found myself trotting behind him like an ungraceful pony.

“Is that any way for a lady to walk?” he grumbled, though there was mirth in those angry eyes and I grinned as soon as I saw it.

“Is that a jape I hear, Clegane? By the gods, it–” But the rest of that remark died in my throat as he pulled me into a dark corridor that ended with a spiral staircase. He went down and again, I followed.

“Where are we?” I inquired.

“Underneath the barracks.” His rasping voice drifted up to me. Once more, he was leading.

“Lovely,” I sighed and then simply kept following.

At the end of the staircase, there was an old door with an even older-looking lock, to which Sandor for some inexplicable reason produced a rust-covered key. He unlocked the door and it soon became apparent he must have been the first one to do it in quite a while. It took a formidable power to open it at all. I looked at how his muscles bulged under the dark sleeves of his tunic and against my better judgement I did not stop looking until he caught me in the act. 

Without any niceties, Sandor took my hand and led me through the narrow passage, then firmly shut the door behind us; the rusty hinges straining under the task.

“I do appreciate the effort, Clegane, but if I should have to perish, I’d rather not do it under some aimless old stone that decides to drop on my head with–”

“You talk too much, woman.”

He grabbed me and soon my back was pressed against the cold stone wall. I did not necessarily mind. This was what I came there for; it was what I wanted and what Sandor kept giving me for the past year and a half.

I reached out blindly and when my hands found his face I pulled him closer for a kiss. He wouldn’t reciprocate at first, this much I knew, because such was our game. He would let me sense his humours and somehow through a simple touch and kiss I would read him like a book. I realised he would need it rough today and my body shivered with anticipation. I deepened the kiss and finally Sandor moved closer and started to unlace his breeches.

There was scarcely any light source in the old dungeon and I could barely see a thing. Regretful, giving my particular weakness for the sight of the man. Because Sandor was everything I could ever want from a man, even though he would never let me say it out loud. 

But the noose around my neck was tightening. With the summer ending and Her Grace slowly packing to move back to King’s Landing with the children, I knew the proper mourning period after my late husband’s passing was over. As I had no remaining male relatives, Ser Damion Lannister was in charge of any dowry my puny cousin Crakehall branch could offer. Soon, the evil beast that married my sister would force me to wed once more–undoubtedly to another evil beast of his choosing.

“You are shaking, my lady.” The familiar raspy voice brought me back. I sighed because I enjoyed him calling me a lady quite as much as he liked to be called “ser”.

“It’s cold in here.”

“Aye.” He reached under my skirts and I gasped once he pulled down my smallclothes. “So let me make you warmer.”

Another sigh turned into a moan when he put two fingers inside me and curled them. He was not being rough to be cruel, but because he knew I could not stand a slow and tedious prelude.

“So wet,” he rasped into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Were you thinking of me all day?”

I could not smell the wine on him this time and I enjoyed the thought that he wanted to experience me sober. I always liked it better when he was not drinking and I thought the incentive for him was that our time together would last longer.

“Actually no, I–” I exhaled and let out a surprised chuckle as he grabbed my thigh firmly to lift up my leg. I rested it against his hip and he added another finger inside me–this time more smoothly.

“Cease your prattling, woman,” he grunted. “Does the dark frighten you so much? Or the creature you find yourself in the dark with?”

I let out another moan as his teeth nibbled at my neck. 

The sensations were overwhelming. The stone wall was cold against my back, and the dank dungeon was not something I would call remotely romantic–it smelled of damp earth and rot, and to be truthful after a day of training in the yard, Sandor smelled no better.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I could see him sneering at me.

“Where in the seven hells are you?” He leaned in closer and as he replaced his fingers with his cock, I steadied myself by clutching his arms. “Because you sure ain’t here with me.”

“I am… thinking,” I whispered and it gave him a pretence to claim another kiss from my lips. 

He knew me too well; such was the consequence of two souls connecting the way we have been doing. At first our dalliance was just a mutual understanding–but now it expanded and grew like a root, and despite our better judgement, we started to get to know one another.

“Stop thinking so much, woman,” he grumbled, his voice surely hoarse from yelling at incompetent recruits through all of the morrow. “Look at me. Look at me.”

I finally looked up and saw the faint outline of his face. His eyes no longer resentful, now they glinted with lust. I smiled as I understood the object of that lust was me. 

“Go on then,” I mustered my best commanding tone and moaned as he squeezed my thigh harder in return.

The rough wall behind me, the strong arms I was clutching and Sandor’s hardness inside me all brought me back from whatever hell my mind had wandered to and I set my heart on the now. That is why we worked so well, I supposed. His roughness and my need for it paired together beautifully.

We were both close, I could feel it. Sandor let out a groan and I made myself tighten around him in response. I wished the moment could last longer, but I knew deep down all things that exist in darkness and privacy must one day come out to light.

I reached my peak first and nearly cried out–but Sandor was faster. He captured my lips in another harsh kiss, spilling inside me. I felt how his body tensed, pressed up against me. Still seeing stars, I let him release my leg back down, though I appreciated him still holding me close. I swore under my breath at how unsteady I felt and I heard Sandor chuckle. An oddly comforting thing, that disembodied rough chuckle in the dark. 

I pulled up my smallclothes and straightened my skirts, wincing at the mess that spilled from me. I did not care if his seed quickened, though. Thankfully I was no longer a maiden and knew my sums better than I used to. My monthly blood was still far away and I had more time to take precautions.

My release did make everything better, but I still was not finished with my game of teasing the bull.

“When was the last time you took a bath, Sandor?”

I could not really see it, but I knew his brows were tightly pinched together.

“Last week, I think. Why? Does this dog’s stink offend your ladyship?”

“No,” I chuckle. “Have no fear. I know who you are and I still enjoy your company.”

That, I gathered, stunned him more than a blow to the head could. I heard his clothes rustle. He was putting himself back in order, too.

“The smell of blood and sweat,” he grunted. “Some twisted tastes you have, woman.”

I put my hands in front of me and grabbed at his tunic to pull him closer. This time, he obeyed. I pressed myself against him and I could feel his breath quickening.

“Some twisted tastes, indeed,” I hummed and moved to rest my cheek against his chest. “But I wish we could go somewhere else. Somewhere far away from Casterly Rock.”

Somewhere far away from my sister’s husband, is what I truly wished to say and Sandor knew it well. I could feel him stirring uncomfortably, undoubtedly unsure what to say to that. I knew then that I let myself say too much.

“Well, we’ve got that. The two of us here, nice and private, as the lady commands.”

“Very amusing.”

“I do try.”

His hands moved from my backside then and I felt his fingers in my hair. True to the word he had once given, he was doing his best not to make too much of a mess of my braid. But I knew he liked my hair. He remarked on it often.

We were quiet then, just the two of us in that small dungeon under the barracks of Castle Casterly, and it was as close to peaceful as I have ever felt. I knew I was trying to hold on to this moment just a little bit longer, to somehow keep it from ending. 

To my surprise, it was Sandor that broke our silence this time:

“I do not want to let you go yet.”

I knew what it meant, for him to speak his mind like that. I was fast to answer so as not to keep him in suspension:

“Nor I you.”

I wanted to say more; to say I wished he were mine and mine alone. But that would be foolish. I knew it could never be. I started to trace soothing circles on his back instead; something I knew he enjoyed very much.

After a moment, he spoke again, though his voice was less hoarse now:

“And if I said… I am yours as you are mine?”

The pang of emotion in my chest was as pleasant as it was scary.

“I would say that is all I want.” I placed my palm against his scarred cheek and felt him lean into the touch. “I want you,” I assure him. “I do not wish to be away from you. I do not wish to be married to a lord or a hedge knight or the first drunk who wins against Damion at cards. I want…”

But then the moment faded away and Sandor brought us back to reality:

“What we want doesn’t matter.”

We have been here before, I realised. This was not the first time when both of us wanted the same, but neither believed we could truly take it.

“You know I am no knight. No lord. I’m just their creature, I’m the Hound.”

“Do not say that.”

“But that’s the truth,” he replied, his voice harsh and grating like knives on stone. “I have killed more men than I could even remember. I’m scarred and ugly and hard to look at. You would not be getting a man, you would be getting a beast.”

I knew what he was doing, what he was trying to do. But this time, somehow, I did not want to cower before my better judgement. Winter was coming and I was growing tired.

“Well, fortunately I am good with wild creatures,” I declared in my best lady-like tone. “If I could make your Stranger eat my apple offerings, I am certain you are no more work than that.”

He went silent and even in the dim lighting of the dungeon I could see the conflict in his face.

“Never had a woman like you, with manners and all. I was never meant for any court. If we give in, you’d be wed to a brute.”

I exhaled and decided then that if after a decade the seasons were changing, I deserved a change as well. I have decided then to break the spell of misfortune with a jape and took a step closer to sniff at his neck.

“Well, as your lady wife I could at least make you bathe more often. If that is not a credit to my taming skills, I do not know what would be.”

He laughed at that and even though his laughter would always be short-lived, I still took that as a victory.

“Fuck the court then, eh?” he said and gently held my face in his rough, calloused hands. 

“Fuck the court,” I said sternly, and I knew my swearing always took him by surprise, “and fuck their dances, and fuck their hedge knights. May they all dance themselves off the cliffs of Casterly Rock! And may Ser Damion die of a bloody flux. I hope it is painful.”

“Aye,” Sandor chuckled again and kissed the top of my head. “It is. But do not let them hear you cast your spells. I will do much, but I will not save you from a burning pyre.”

It would not matter if they burned me to ash tomorrow for true. Today I finally had hope.

“I want to be your wife,” I declared. “I want them all to know who protects me. I know you will protect me. They are all afraid of you and–”

“Look at me,” he ordered and I did so at once. “You say this… And you say this knowing what I am? Knowing why they are all afraid?”

“I do not care,” I replied, now close to tears from thinking he would not agree after all. “My good-brother is in charge of my money and in charge of me. I have nothing of my own, no reputation, no lands or keep. Truth be told, you are marrying down, Sandor.”

He laughed at that and I cherished the sound. I adored making the mask fall.

“You are taking advantage of me, woman, is that it?” he rasped, though now his voice lacked all that anger. He seemed almost happy.

“Yes, Sandor Clegane,” I grinned. “I have cast my spells and ensnared you in my power. All of our combined riches of one dragon and two stags shall get us as far as… The Trident, most likely. After that we shall both be whores, but we shall be very happy, indeed.”

“Careful, woman,” he snarled, though his eyes showed no anger.

“Pardon me, my lord.” I gave him my best curtsy.

That earned me a hard squeeze of my backside, but I had no regrets.

“Do you have no fears, then?” he rasped, his hand playing with my hair again. “None at all?”

“Well, I do not particularly care for spiders…”

“By the gods, woman! About me, I meant.”

“Then, no.” My grin grew wider. “You are many things, but you are not a monster, Sandor. I know I can believe your words if you say you would not hurt me.”

“Never.” He rushed to answer this and his hands immediately tightened around my waist. “But I will hurt anyone around you if I need to keep you safe. I will keep you safe, the rest of them can fucking burn.”

“Then I shall dance on the ashes,” I japed again, though my heart threatened to burst out of my chest from happiness. “Come then. Let us find some drunk Septon, I hear your Lord Tyrion knows a few.”

Sandor chuckled and took me by the hand to lead us out of the dungeon.

“He is your cousin.”

“Only by marriage. Remember, I am a Crakehall. Wild boars and lions are not exactly friendly.”

“And hounds are? You are mad.”

“You better wed me fast, then. Such a grand prospect shall not wait forever. But after that, I never want to see or hear the name ‘Lannister’ ever again. ”

We stopped on our way up the stairs and to my astonishment Sandor kissed me right then and there. He looked me in the eye, solemn as always, no doubt waiting for me to change my mind. But I would not. Not when he had shown me what happiness tasted like.

“What is it?” I asked. 

“This may be the most foolish thing I have ever done,” he grumbled. “And that’s saying something.”

I took his hands in mine and shook my head, smiling in a way I hoped was encouraging and not entirely deranged from joy. 

“I am the unreasonable one, Sandor. You shall be my reasonable husband that tames my wicked nature, remember?”

“Am I now?” He smirked. “So you do take me for a husband? I ain’t even civilised enough to know the… vows.”

“Neither does the Septon, if we get one drunk enough to agree to wed us.”

“Nothing will change your mind, then?”

“Nothing shall save you now from this predicament. The hounds are out, the boars are slain, the… I do seem to have run out of house sigils for my japes, but you do know my meaning, I hope?”

“Aye,” he said and this time he seemed to have believed me. “That I do, woman. Now, let us get you that Septon so that I can bed you long and proper.”

[drymushroomfics]

•○•♡•○•Fanfic Masterlist•○•♡•○•

A/n: Still in the process of uploading all of these so not everything has links yet

○Sandor Clegane

• Fraye Hill of House Lannister

• Too Many Questions

• Reminiscing

○ Rory McCann

• Boat Ride

• A Gift

○Colin Firth

• Proof

• Time

• Thanks, Stan

• Lust For Life

• Hope Springs

○Kingsman

•Eggsy's Plan

• Reciprocated Feelings

• First Words

○Till Lindemann

• Changes

[plzhearmeout]

WOW. Just wow, holy shit. First of all, I absolutely adore Lyarra. She's so relatable and engaging as a main character, and I'm obsessed. Second of all, I screamed when Sandor made his appearance. Like out loud. Third of all, I'm having so much fun seeing characters we know as adults as children, especially through Lyarra's eyes. Her interactions with them are so interesting, and I can't wait to see what happens with each relationship. Overall, this chapter was wonderful. It's really setting the stage for the rest of the story in a way that has me literally frothing at the mouth for more. I'm sprinting to the next chapter.

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE .

Masterlist:

authors note + cast list.

parts: 1 2 3

CHAPTER TWO , A TOURNEY.

And who are you? The proud lord said,

That I must bow so — Low? Only a cat of a

different coat. That's all the truth I know.

– The Rains of Castamere.

The simplicity of Winterfell's consistent snowfall was something all too easy to overlook. To under-appreciate when it was all you were subjected to. It's when we spend our days longing for that which is out of our grasp, that we forget what we have already.

Every night since Lyarra's return to the comforting stone palace that she knew as home, she'd snuck out as the moon reached its peak. Every night, she made her way to the same spot. In truth, she wasn't sure exactly how long it had been. Weeks, she thought — maybe months. It was hard to tell. Her days were spent with either Benjen or Lyanna — as her two older brothers had too much responsibility to take on to spare a moment for their little sister. Brandon was coming into his own while Eddard was, more often than not, at the Eyrie. He'd been fostered there for what felt like years, rarely coming back to Winterfell unless it was for a matter of great import. 

She longed to return to the days where she could talk to Brandon about anything on her mind, where he would match her vigor with his own — and it felt as if they were the only two who felt things as passionately as they did. She missed Eddard's all too serious tone in her ear constantly, nitpicking at all that she did. Years passed like this. She'd spend her nights in the forest, and her days with her younger brother and Lyanna. Lyarra learned to value the moments that she had with her family, cherishing them as if there wouldn't be another.

When she had the chance, she'd roam the halls with Benjen. Talking about anything and everything they could think of. He had even taken to sparring with her in the courtyard, though it took what felt like years of convincing. He wouldn't go near Lyanna — though she was almost the most enthusiastic for the chance — as there were rumors spiraling that Father was intending on wedding her soon. The girls were closing on ten-and-three, now. They knew well enough what was to come, whether they wanted it or not. A year prior, Brandon had come to Lyarra's room, just before she meant to sneak out. Her nerves were on fire, her palms sweating at the thought of being caught. But that wasn't what her brother was here for at all. In truth, she could've been halfway out the window by the time he entered, and he wouldn't have cared. He sat her down, and in a somber tone unbecoming of his character, told her that their father — Lord Rickard Stark — was considering marrying her to Edmure Tully. 

Her initial reaction was to laugh. Her contempt for the boy was evident, even when she was staying with his family. They bickered, constantly. Not in the way that friends — or even siblings — do, no. The two despised one another. In truth, Lyarra wasn't certain what necessarily brought it on. Maybe it was his apparent distaste for her friend, or maybe it was just his attitude in and of itself. The very thought brought an uneasy feeling to her stomach, and that night she forgot all about her peace within the forest. That night, she begged Brandon — inconsolably bawling in his arms, soaking his tunic — to convince father otherwise. 

"Please, Brandon. Please, don't let him. I've never met such a horrible boy in my life, truly! It's not fair, it's just not fair." Her words were muffled by his thick fur pelt, as she felt two broad arms come to wrap around her. Brandon caressed the back of her head, petting her hair as she continued to fall apart in his arms. 

The two sat wrapped in one another for so long, that she hadn't even noticed her eyes growing heavy. She woke up to the sun in her vision — lighting up her puffy, tear-stained cheeks. When she sat up, she had her brother's cloak on. After that day, Edmure Tully was never mentioned to her again. Lyarra wasn't a fool. She was lucky, lucky that her father had started mulling over potential matches with the worst possible option. And more than anything, she was lucky that she had a brother caring enough to tell their father that he was a fool. 

Lyanna, however, was not so lucky. She was to be wed to Robert Baratheon. A boy that the twins knew well, due to how close he was with Ned. Lyarra had never felt any particular way about him, not entirely. His longing for her sister was known, and oftentimes if he was drunk enough he'd confuse the two. She pitied him, in a way. A stupid boy, who fell for a brash girl — who knew all too well she'd be doomed to an unhappy marriage. Robert, though he claimed to love her sister, would never pass down an offer from a woman. Would never look away, when someone would strip themselves bare. He would be an unfaithful husband, even if no one was willing to acknowledge it but her and Lyanna. Eddard didn't disagree, necessarily. He knew the boy better than anyone. But his love for him was as clear as her own love for Petyr. 

The night that the news was delivered, Lyarra clutched onto her sister's hand as tightly as she could. 'Lyanna was the most beautiful girl in all the seven kingdoms', Lyarra had thought. For all of her 'boyish' qualities, there had never lived a girl with more beauty. Both in spirit and in body. Compassion bled through Lyanna as if it was her own blood. When the two bid their farewells from the dining hall, Lyarra held her sister in her quarters as she all but sobbed in her arms. This time, she couldn't go to their father as Brandon had. She couldn't stand up for her, force him to make another decision. It was in that moment that she realized just how weak she was. How powerless she would be, from this day until the end of her days. 

At ten-and-four, the betrothal was official. Lyanna Stark would wed Robert Baratheon, at a time that they saw fit. The night that it became an official decree throughout the realm, Lyarra spent hours sitting on her stump. At first, she sat in silence. Not even staring up at the sky, as she usually would have. This time, she gazed curiously down at her hands. Her fingers, though littered with calluses and scrapes from holding a blade, held no power. She couldn't help anyone. She couldn't fix anything. 

Later, her eldest brother would scold her for missing the feast. Claiming that her sister needs her at her side now, more than ever. But it wasn't unnatural for her to miss celebrations. She rarely attended any sort of gathering, had she not been forced to do so. She'd seen her sister staring after her longingly, pleading with her to not go. But Lyarra wasn't strong enough to help her sister to begin with, so why should she try to be brave for her? 

These nights repeated themselves, a consistent routine. It was only when it was announced that the children would be attending Lord Walter Whent's tourney at Harrenhal, that she took a pause. She hadn't left the castle properly since Riverrun. It was a fool's wish, but she couldn't help the giddiness that crept up her, as her thoughts swept to Petyr. Benjen took that moment to list off who he knew would be attending. He was fascinated by the knights, after all, and Lyarra couldn't blame him. Had she not been born a woman, she'd spend her nights dreaming of a life as a knight. A sworn brother, giving his life to his king. A strong, brave hero. By the end of the list, she couldn't help the displeasing churn that twisted in her gut. She missed her friend, dearly. As everything began to spiral out of control in her life, her need to see him was stronger than ever. 

She'd sent ravens. Half a dozen, by now. They all contained various messages. Some describing what was going on, some detailing what she'd be doing right now if she could, and some asking him about what was going on in his life. Yet after years, she'd yet to receive a response. Perhaps he'd never gotten them. Perhaps something went wrong with each and every bird she'd sent. Or perhaps, he no longer wanted to hear from her at all. 

The journey to Harrenhal wasn't nearly as discomforting as it had been to Riverrun. This time, she walked ahead with the eldest members of her family. Her and Lyanna would have to ride different horses this time, and seeing as she couldn't stand another minute of discussing Robert Baratheon — Lyarra chose to ride alongside Eddard, who had hardly seemed surprised by her presence. He cast a longing look towards his two younger siblings, as Benjen and Lyanna had begun bickering about anything and everything. First, her horse was too close to his. Then, his horse stunk — and it was making her horse stink. Then, all horses stink. Lyarra and Eddard were nearly in hysterics by the end of the ride, after hearing their ridiculous arguments. 

Harrenhal almost made Lyarra miss the castle in Riverrun. Though it'd felt almost like a cell while inside, this castle was bordering on ruin. And by the looks of it, it always had been. The first event of the tourney itself came quickly. Her eyes caught on the shields, on the way that the clashing almost appeared to be a dance. She knew some of the knights by their sigil alone, while other times she needed Benjen to name them for her. Across the stands, Lyarra's eyes were caught curiously by what she saw before her. Across her stood a boy, who couldn't be more than a year — maybe two — her elder, with a scar stretching across his cheek. A boy who, to most, no doubt appeared monstrous. With a patch of hair missing, and puckered burns across his face, the sight would make any take a shallow breath. 

But Lyarra, forgetting herself, couldn't take her eyes off of the boy. For all the monstrous things about him, his eyes were captivatingly beautiful, enraptured in a way she had never seen. He was fascinated by what was going on, entirely absorbed. His own adoration matched her own, though she was sure she was not able to express her excitement exactly the way that he was. After a beat or two longer, the boy's head seemed to snap up in an instant — his eyes finding Lyarra in the crowd, as if he knew exactly where she'd be. She watches as his brow, or what is left of it, furrows at her stare. She did her best to pull her lips in a soft smile, so that he would know she wasn't staring out of ignorance or anything of the sort. But his piercing eyes flitted away just as quickly as they had appeared. He seemed to compose himself, his previous childlike grin dampened to ash. 

Lyarra couldn't help the guilt churning within her. She hadn't meant to upset the boy. She wanted to ask her brother if he knew who the boy was, but she decided to take the attention off of him for a moment. Instead, she focused her gaze on what was transpiring before her. Benjen had been talking throughout the competition, apparently, but she only tuned back in towards the end. She didn't need him to name the golden boy below her, who stood proud as he was bestowed the honor of Kingsguard. She'd never met the boy personally, but one knows a lion when one sees it. Jaime Lannister carried his ego with him on his shoulder wherever he went. Not that Lyarra could blame him. He was beautiful, even she could admit that. He almost resembled a knight that she would read about in her stories, who'd come to save the fair maiden in her time of need. 

Jaime Lannister, for all of his overwhelming self-confidence, had never seemed so small as he did in that moment. She took the time to scan over him with curious eyes. He was just a boy. His eyes only just barely gave away his facade, breaking away to show the display the true fear beneath them. He wanted to prove himself as badly as she did – as badly as anyone competing today did, she'd argue. When Lyarra came back from her train of thought, recognizing that her brother was speaking again, Jaime's eyes began to sweep over the crowd. It felt as if he were committing the moment to memory, and she couldn't help but sit up in the slightest to applaud properly. For only a moment, his eyes caught on her — flickering in vague recognition. A lion recognizes a wolf just as easily, it'd seem. By the time that Lyarra pulled her eyes away from Jaime, she glanced to the spot where she had seen the scarred boy from earlier. In his place left a small, almost unnoticeable gap in the crowd. Yet she couldn't help the faint pout on her lips as she tried to find him. 

"Enjoying the tourney, my lady?" The Lion called to the Wolf. The festivities had been wrapped up for the night, with the final event being a knighting of a large man that Lyarra couldn't quite recall. Clegane, she thought. A monstrous man. Twice the size of her father, double that of her brother.  There were whispers throughout the crowd, as he was bestowed the title of knight. However, she paid them no mind. Coming back to herself, Lyarra couldn't help the small smile on her lips as she turned to face the golden-haired boy. Jaime matched her smile with a coy grin of his own, his helmet buried in the crux of his armpit. 

"It's fascinating, Ser Jaime. Though a bit tedious at times, if you don't mind my saying-" at that, she was cut off by a sharp laugh from the boy. Of course, even his laugh was princely. Lyarra decided then and there that Jaime Lannister was perfect. He had no faults. How could he, after all? Every step he made left a golden footprint, his words pure honey pouring out of his lips. Unbecoming of herself, she couldn't help the blush that crept up her neck. "But fascinating regardless. Congratulations are in order, I'd assume?"

"I thank you, my lady. I'll remember it for the rest of my days, I'm sure. There's nothing quite like standing in front of a crowd and hearing them all chant your name. Not mocking you, but worshipping you, cheering for you.." He trailed off, his eyes unfocused in the distance. Lyarra's own smile turned the slightest hint of bittersweet, at that. She'd never get to feel that, not the way he had. She'll never be a knight, nor will she be worshipped. Even if she is married off, it won't be to someone important enough to have the people chant her name. Her own eyes gaze longingly into the shrubbery for a moment, before she is stolen out of her stupor by an arm being presented to her. 

"Would you accompany me to the feast, my lady? It's a terribly long walk, I'm afraid. I wouldn't want for you to get lost. Or me, for that matter!" Jaime's words were charmingly sweet, with a grin that stretched across his features wolfishly. Her arm linked with his before she could think through the action properly. 

"The newly appointed Kingsguard lost on his first day? Oh, no. We can't have that, can we?" The two shared a laugh, as if they'd developed their own language within minutes of speaking to one another. Lyarra had half the heart to be wary of the lion, of how charming he was. But as he continued to make her laugh — to say exactly what she was thinking, just before she said it, her trepidation melted away, leaving only something warm and all encompassing within her chest. The two made their way to the hall with minimal conversation, Jaime making a few comments throughout the trip — clearly just seeking to hear her laugh again. 

"Ah, yes. Here we are. Lord Whent's favorite bush. It's said he comes out here, at the cusp of night when he knows that no one is watching..." He trailed off then, widening his eyes expectantly. Lyarra felt a snort building up, and let out a quick cough to maintain her dignity. Her belly laughs quick became giggles, as the two continued throughout the night. "And uh, well. Looks at it? I'm not quite sure really. Can you really do much with a bush?" 

"Oh, you'd be surprised! Think bigger, Ser Jaime. Think bigger." 

"You know, you're not the first person to tell me that."

Once they had arrived to the feast itself, Lyarra moved to sit by her siblings. Jaime bid her farewell by kissing the tips of  her fingers, and she promised to find him again before they made their journey back home. She did her best to ignore the looks coming from his family, as well as the confused glances from her own. Instead, she sat down harshly — with far too much weight than she should have. Had Old Nan been there, she would've called it 'unladylike'. To all seven hells with that, she thought. She directed her attention to once again scanning the faces in the hall, looking for the boy from earlier. At Benjen's inquisitive look, she went to describe him to ask for his aid — but thought better of it. If he was already offended by just her staring, of course he would hate it if her whole pack of wolves gawked at him too. 

She was briefly distracted by this train of thought when her siblings began to argue. Apparently, Lyanna had been paying too much attention to Rhaegar Targaryen (not that anyone could blame her, for that matter) and Benjen took to mocking her like a child. Not only that, when the man had begun to sing — Lyanna couldn't hold back her tears. Their brother was laughing so hard that he was bordering on tears of her own. Lyarra sat back as well as she could on the bench, scanning the hall for the boy from earlier. Her eyes caught Jaime's from across the room, as he sent her a curious look. She brushed it off, turning her attention back to her rowdy siblings — who were now spilling wine on one another. 

Lyarra had half a heart to chastise them for their behavior, but Eddard had spoken up in that moment already. She took one more glance around the room before standing to take her younger brother's arm, guiding him out of the hall. 

"Does she have to act like such an idiot all the time?" He grumbled to himself once they were outside of the hall. Had Lyarra not been so close to him she likely wouldn't have heard it to begin with. 

"If I remember right, you started it, dear brother. Perhaps, don't mock a woman while she holds a glass of wine." Lyarra added with a shrug, moving to ruffle his hair half-heartedly. 

"Woman is a stretch. You're both children. Act like it too." His words were met with a sharp sigh. He was right, of course. They were only treated as women because of matters outside of their control. As if bleeding once should make you ready to bear a child, to take on the responsibilities of a lady.

"Like you're any better." With that, the conversation had ended. Benjen all but avoided her eyes as she guided him to his quarters. She'd intended on leaving the boy there to retreat to her own, before an arm shot out to grasp onto her. Lyarra jumped at the sudden movement, spinning back to face her brother. 

"D'you mind staying, just for a while? I don't like being away from home. It's better when you're around." His admission was quiet, eyes cast low. She took this moment to raise her palm to his cheek, moving him to face her. 

"Of course, Benjen. I'll stay as long as you'd like." And she did just that. The two only talked for a short while. He continued prattling on about Lyanna's fascination with Rhaegar, and Lyarra only scoffed and nodded along as she listened. She, in turn, told him of her time with Jaime Lannister. This was met with a bit of a scowl, but Benjen nodded nonetheless. The boy had fallen asleep soon after, but Lyarra did not leave his side until she saw the sun peaking over the castle. 

The remaining days of the tourney seemed to wane on. She, along with the rest of her family, had been forced to attend every competition. Every blade swung just reminded Lyarra further that she would never be able to hold such a position. She'd always be the lady stuck in the crowd, watching as the men have their fun. She hardly held a scowl as she observed, though several times she was chastised by her brothers. Some nights Jaime would meet her in that same garden, escorting her to the feast in the same way he had the nights prior. Other nights the two would only meet one another's eyes from across the room, and smile in their own secretive way before moving on. All things considered, Lyarra was merely content to find a friend. The boy seemed to have mutual respect for her, as she did him. 

On the fourth day of competition, Lyarra had decided she'd had enough of playing the silent observer. There had been two jousts already, and just before the men could begin the third — she'd heard a distant yell. It wasn't loud enough to catch the attention of the men in front of her, but it did catch the ears of her and her siblings. Benjen, at the very least. 

"Men for the Night's Watch! Any able bodied man looking to serve the realm, look for the Night's Watch! The shield that guards the realms of men!" A poor advertisement, really. But effective to one, it'd appear. Lyarra watched as Benjen sat forward, his eyes muddled in thought. The very thought of her brother in the Night's watch forced an unladylike cackle out of her lips. Her brother? The boy who had begged her to stay in her room, so that he did not have to sleep alone, only nights ago? Regardless, the boy was transfixed. He only looked away when a group of boys behind them began to call out to the man. 

They mocked him, belittling him for such a 'cowardly job', as they'd put it. The Night's Watch was embarrassing to them. A way to escape the duties of a 'proper man'. In Lyarra's eyes, she considered the men of the Watch brave. They were sacrificing their lives for the realm — for the better of everyone else's life. She stood up then to chastise them, before being yanked down by her older brother. Eddard shot her a sharp look, before quickly returning his focus to the tourney. Lyarra bore the man no mind, as she once again stood up, moving to empty the remainder of her cup of wine on them. They'd shot up instantly to retaliate, before remembering themselves — and quickly ran off. She could hardly hold back the prideful grin on her lips, as she turned back to her brother. 

While she considered the idea of Benjen in the Night's Watch laughable, she wouldn't allow others to dampen his dream. That was her job, after all. She moved to place her hand on his, then, interlocking their fingers. He seemed to breathe after her touch, sending her a short — almost imperceptible — nod in thanks. 

Lyanna did not pay much attention herself, until Rhaegar Targaryen was out. Lyarra couldn't help but admit that her sister did spend an odd amount of time watching the man. She thought he was fascinating herself, of course. The Targaryens were hard to not look away from. They were beautiful, almost standing as mythological beings. However Lyanna had yet to look away from the boy once. Robert had come to speak to her at one point, stomping across the stands — drunk already, no doubt. Lyarra had to step harshly on her sister's shoe to get the girl to notice, too transfixed by the mop of white hair in front of her. This seemed to delight Benjen, as his theory had been proven correct — to which Lyarra turned to stomp on his boot as well. 

On the night before the last day of the tourney, Lyarra held back in the gardens to wait for Jaime. While she waited, she observed the flowers surrounding her. Winter Roses grew proudly everywhere she looked. Lyanna would love this, she couldn't help but think. Perhaps she should bring her sister down tomorrow, before the tourney starts. Or perhaps her sister had already come, with Rhaegar at her side. The man had begun to take interest in her too, no doubt. Only a blind man couldn't see that. Lyarra knew this blooming interest between them would only end poorly. Lyanna was to be wed, and King Aerys hardly seemed like a man to strike a bargain for her sake. She knew as well that Rhaegar was married himself, to Elia Martell, though in truth she had never seen the two together. Another Stark could easily be wed to Robert, to establish the bond. Unfortunate, that she knew well enough in that moment that no man would ever relinquish their 'right to a woman', regardless of how she felt. 

At that moment, a snap of a branch caught Lyarra's attention. She whipped around with a smile, expecting to see Jaime Lannister's golden grin. Only, instead of Jaime, it was a much larger beast. There stood Gregor Clegane.  Ser Gregor, she supposed. He was easily triple her size. She'd seen him maybe twice now in the tourney, crushing every man he went against. He peered down at her, his eyes the furthest thing from human she had ever seen. As she moved to speak, he stepped forward, all but backing her against a column. For the first time in her life, Lyarra was truly speechless in terror. Men had made their intentions with her clear more than once, and she was accustomed to a brutish man with a wandering hand. But Gregor? He wasn't a man at all. He raised his palm to her cheek, and was only halted by a sharp voice calling from across the garden. 

"Brother! Your king is calling you. Says he needs you, now. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting. He seemed angry." The voice, unrecognizable to Lyarra, rang out. His words seemed to echo, as Gregor made no move to retreat. His eyes pierced into hers, and she couldn't help but tremble against the wall. With a grunt, he moved across the garden — staring daggers into whoever had spoken. It was then, as Lyarra sat forward to collect herself, that she was able to spot whom the voice had come from. It was the boy from the first day of the tourney. The boy with burns across his cheek, brown hair sweeping across his face. He looked so small, now that she could see him closer. His scar almost made him appear that much younger. She moved to thank the boy, before another voice rang out. 

"My lady! I apologize for such a dastardly wait. The king has been rather unhappy tonight, I'm afraid. It was a chore to rid myself of him." Jaime Lannister took the opportunity to appear then, making quick strides to her. It was only when he'd reached Lyarra, that he noticed her ragged state. He glanced down at her, before turning accusatively to the boy who still stood silent as ever in the center of the garden. Lyarra shot up, then, placing a calm hand to Jaime's shoulder. The boy took this chance to make his leave, never once breaking eye contact with her. Just before he'd left the garden, she'd stepped forward, leaving Jaime's grasp. 

"Ser?" She called, her voice ringing across the area. The boy stopped then, turning to her with a grimace. She could see then, that he truly wasn't much older than her. Not old enough that he couldn't be a knight, but he didn't carry himself like one at all. He was much larger than her. Smaller than Gregor, of course. But far larger than Jaime — or anyone else she'd met, for that matter. "Thank you."

"I'm no Ser," And with that, the boy had disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. She almost deflated at that, leaning back on the soles of her feet. Jaime had taken her arm as quickly as he had the previous nights, only this time he lingered — glancing over her to make sure she had no lasting wounds. Her explanation came quick, leaving out names due to the man's connection with the King. Jaime promised her that he would find the man that attacked her, and Lyarra could hardly force a timid smile on her lips. 

Lyarra did not leave her sister's side after that. She rarely saw Jaime, and if she did it was only in passing. The two would send one another a weak smile, before carrying on their respective paths. She knew better than to mention what happened to anyone. Lyarra, in truth, didn't even know if Gregor would be punished, and did not want to suffer his wrath unknowingly. Lyanna spent her time ogling Rhaegar Targaryen, unsurprisingly. She hardly looked away, and if she did it was only for a brief moment. 

On the last day of the tourney, Lyarra could hardly force herself to pay attention. She knew that the purpose of the whole tournament was to name a 'queen of love and beauty'. A nameless title, used only to bring praise and further celebration to the victorious knight who would place the crown in a lady's lap. She spent her time scanning through the crowd, searching desperately for the boy that had her curiosity spiraling like a mad dog. He'd been almost frightened by her wandering eye originally, only to come to her aid when she needed it most. 'Brother', he'd called Ser Gregor. So he was a Clegane, then. Lyarra made a mental note to ask her brother of the Cleganes later, as she knew little to nothing of the name. 

She only refocused her attention on the tournament when she noticed white hair sweeping through the field. Rhaegar Targaryen stood victorious over the other men, thus presenting him with the crown — to bestow upon a lady whom he saw fit. Lyarra had brushed the very concept off, choosing to clasp onto her sister's hand — assuming that he would pick his wife. Lyanna was to be wed, and he had a wife of his own. Regardless of whether there was something budding between the two, they'd have no choice in the matter. It was only as Lyarra watched Rhaegar approach in horror, that she began to reconsider. In a flash, Rhaegar placed the crown of blue winter roses in Lyanna's lap. Just as quickly as he'd arrived, he was gone. Lyanna's cheeks were flushed, a red hue creeping up her neck. She never quite thought she'd seen her sister as full of life as she was in that moment. 

However, Lyarra was no fool. She knew the repercussions to this. The action itself was scandalous, and she watched in mute horror as Robert Baratheon turned his own shade of red in the face. Princess Elia was gone, disappeared in a flash before anyone else had noticed. She couldn't help the pang of pity that rang through her chest, at that. 

The trip back to Winterfell was a quiet one. Benjen and Lyanna rode far from one another, with Lyanna lingering in the back alongside her sister. Lyarra did not leave her sister's side, save to speak with Eddard. Throughout their short talks, Ned did not take his eyes off of Lyanna. He wasn't pleased with her, no doubt. Though, Lyarra maintained that it was no fault of her sister's. Rhaegar made his decision on his own, she took no part in it. He seemed to grow a bit more complacent at her words, muttering a vague comment of appreciation before hastening his horse ahead. 

Lyarra thought then of the golden lion she'd left behind. Jaime Lannister, for all his perfections, was a curious man. She'd only made one friend in her life, yet her bond with the Lannister boy blossomed almost just as quickly. They weren't nearly as close, however, and her heart did not long to return to him as it did to Petyr. Jaime Lannister was a kind, charming boy. Their goodbyes were short, away from prying eyes, in the garden that they'd properly met. He'd had to leave early as it was, with the intention of guarding the Queen Rhaella. Jaime had pulled her hand down to his lips, kissing her knuckles — as if she were a proper lady. Lyarra would miss the boy, she decided then. She only hoped that he'd serve his king well, and that they would later meet under better circumstances. 

The Clegane boy, however, she had yet to see again. She searched for him after the tourney, eyes wandering where they could, but her brothers hardly let her out of their sight after the incident with Lyanna. She would be forever grateful to him, even if she never would get the chance to properly speak with him. 

Lyarra rode silently at her sister's side, doing her best to observe her when she had the chance. She'd seemed somber, since the tourney. Originally, she was elated. Her spirits were only dampened when she'd seen the reaction of the onlookers surrounding her. Lyanna Stark was not one to let the opinions of the many disturb her. She was far from a typical lady. There were even rumors spiraling that she'd presented herself as a Knight at the tourney, though Lyarra was not by her sister's side enough to confirm nor deny that. 

"Are you looking forward to returning home?" Lyarra asked tentatively, leaning down in the slightest to move into her sister's path of sight. It took a few moments for her to respond, and just before Lyarra had gone to ask again she was interrupted. 

"Would you look forward to walking back into the arms of your captor?" Her words were venomous, yet the fury in them was not meant for Lyarra. She knew that well enough. 

"You're not his captive, Lyanna. Robert loves you, at the very least-" 

"At the very least? Oh, so I am meant to love a man because he gives me a golden cage rather than a steel cell? That is not love, dear sister. Robert will find and fuck the first thing he sees, you know that as well as I do." Lyarra was stunned for a beat too long, and before she could collect herself her sister had already ridden ahead. She was right. Lyarra knew she was right. Lyanna had never felt as adored as she had when Rhaegar placed the crown in her lap. A crown of her favorite flowers, solidifying her as the most beautiful lady in attendance. She would never get that from Robert, regardless of how he claimed to love her. 

Lyarra rode on in silence, watching her sister's back as she faded in the distance. She'd wished in that moment, that she hadn't begged her brother to spare her from Edmure Tully. That she was locked in a cage of her own, if only to relieve her sister from the pressure of carrying that weight alone. As it was, she did not know how it felt to be tied to a man that she did not love. She would, in due time. Yet it was her sister who had to shoulder that burden alone now. 

Okay. Well. There's that! I kind of had to force myself to end this chapter here, because I had too many ideas on where to go with it. I did not mean to make this 6k words.. Please bear with me. 

I do have some things I'd like to note about this chapter! One, this is all from Lyarra's perspective, so if something is not included it is because she was not there to witness it. The bit with Howland Reed and the Knight of the Laughing Tree is only briefly touched on in his chapter. Partially because I do not know too much about it, and also because Lyarra was just not present for it. She is always up to smth.. Free my girl. Two, the friendship between Jaime and Lyarra admittedly came out of nowhere. As I was writing, it just felt natural. The chemistry between the two was so entertaining that I could not stop writing for a moment. It feels fitting to me, though, considering what happens between the two later on (maniacal laughter) 

Three, we got our first Sandor appearance! Who cheered. I did not intend on introducing him so early but I saw my chance with the tourney and took it. Bless Lord Whent and his timing (that I altered with creative liberties) Four, the third chapter is likely going to be much shorter than the previous two have been. I have a lot that I'd like to write about Lyarra's life after what happens with Lyanna, so I know that I must separate the two chapters. Fifth and finally, there is a lot of history in the Stark line that is not touched on in this story. Ned being fostered in the Eyrie is only briefly touched on. Lyarra is a bit of an ignorant child, all things considered. She is very curious, but she spends a lot of her time in her own head. If something isn't touched on, it's likely because I felt that something was more important to include instead. I try to keep the familial storylines as close to canon as I can, so if anything isn't explicitly written feel free to assume it happens without saying. 

That is all I have for the time being! If you have any comments, feel free to leave them. 

Thank you, as always

Zevran.

[first-edition]

if you still take requests and ofc if you're willing to, could you please do a one shot of sandor clegane x f reader with lactation kink? like they're married & he survived (post got) and have children - type of scenario?🤍

OFCOURSE omg. Firstly thank you to @dat1angel aka my bestie for helping me figure this out as I’ve never wrote a lactation kink fic before but it was fun.

MINORS DNI

Cw- pinv unprotected, fem reader, pregnant reader, lactation kink, consumption of human milk, Husband a wife ,mother and father , with little plot, not proof reader sorry for any error as usual i write this shit at 3 am usually lol.

I HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

Sandor holds your waist as you grind against him. His cock has been buried in your cunt for over an hour and just being able to watch you riding him is enough to keep him hard and cum better than he ever has.

You’ve had the greatest honor in giving him two sons both of which are old enough to be riding thier own horses and exploring the village under the supervision of the guards you have at the castle and that is where they are now. Exploring the village as the festival goes on.

You’ve become pregnant with sanders third child only a few months ago your belly every growing as you prepare to give birth once again. Sandro cannot help the fact that he is utterly obsessed with your plump state. How you flesh grows softer and your body becomes rounder in support of the little life he helped create inside you.

Any chance he gets he. Has you strip and dance for him the new baby fat perfectly giving you more curves than before. Even now as he groans under you his large hand grips the flesh of your waist once in a while giving your apple ass a slap causing your cunt to clench around him as you jump.

You open your eyes only to see him lustfully starring back at you his hand exploring your sides feelign every inch of you. His actions and look of adoration makes you smile but that smile fade when you feel liquid secrete from your breast your face reddens as cover your chest gasps about to get off your husband in embarrassment.

But he grips you still and sits you looking you square in the eyes before he runs his thumb over your hardened nipple taking your breast into hand.

“Fuck…we cant let this go to wast now can we.” He speaks before dipping down and licking the liquid off. The sweet taste of your milk coating his tounge as he moves to the other.

He groans as he sucks on it wanting more. You moan out as he then turns your both over so he’s on top only to pull his lips away for one second to being fucking up into you relentlessly your tits begin bouncing up as he does.

He grips one and massages it causing more milk to seep out. He quickly laps it up and does the same with the other. Somehow keeping control as he roughly fucks you. Drinking up your sweet nectar. You clown at him and moan out as he continues to stimulate you.

“Fuck you taste like gold!” He groans deeply continuing to feast.

“Ah-ah s-Sandor i-“ you trail off as your toes curl and your pussy clenches. The sensation of your orgasm washed over you in shock causing your back to arch only giving your husband better access to your breasts.

Moments later his thrusts falter and hes cumming up in you making sure you get all of his seed despite being currently pregnant.

You pant as you stay in place for a moment. Sandro comes off your boob with a light ‘pop’ you look to him as his lips and chin are coated in a sheen as he licks off the access. You glance down at your chest seeing it littered with mini bruises from his rough suckling.

You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him too you kissing his lips deeply tasting your own on him. And fuck he was right.

You do taste like gold.

MY REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN SEND A NOTE IF INTERESTED.

[gggoldfinch]

Free Treasure ★ GOT fic

AO3 Link

Sandor Clegane x OFC

Young King Joffrey plays with his subjects like dolls, and makes no exceptions for his fair Lady Sansa’s trusted handmaiden or his own Hound. Wed for the king’s entertainment, both newlyweds find that the other is not entirely what they seem to be: Sandor Clegane’s new wife is not quite an ordinary handmaiden, and Sloane’s new husband isn’t wholly a cold-hearted killer.

Venus and Tannhäuser, Laurence Koe; 1896 || Daughter + Mama, Nirrimi Joy Firebrace & Matt Caplin; March 22, 2013; Flickr

[zoyazenik]

tagging some moots under the cut <3

tagging: @dragonsbone @emilykaldwen @toilandtroubled @eddiemunscns

[ao3feed-tywin]

The Long Wolf

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/1RCeSoB

by BiPirateWitch2001

The Lone Wolf Dies but the Pack Survives, but what is a wolf to do when fighting a lion pride, and her pack is scattered and wounded? Introducing Arrana Stark, eldest daughter of Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully, twin sister to Rob Stark, she will have to deal with many hardships to keep her House from dying and claiming her rightful place. ******* Another angry fan, writing a different ending, I will do things similar to the show in some aspects but I will give it its proper consequences and continuity, or at least I will try. This is not objective, sorry. Also English is not my first language so sorry in advance. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcome This is a Tywin X OFC, because yes, you don't like it, just keep scrolling. I admit he's not a saint, no one is in GOT really. Also Sansa haters, can leave right now, she's my Queen in the North and I will give her lots of love in here.

Words: 1588, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, Multi

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Tywin Lannister, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Tyrion Tanner, Sandor Clegane, Robb Stark, Grey Wind | Robb Stark's Direwolf, Ghost | Jon Snow's Direwolf, Nymeria | Arya Stark's Direwolf, Arya Stark, Daenerys Targaryen, Ned Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Cersei Lannister, Roose Bolton

Relationships: Tywin Lannister/Original Female Character(s), Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark

Additional Tags: Age Difference, Queen in the North (A Song of Ice and Fire), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/1RCeSoB

[tealeavesandthorns]

Ship ideas or wishlists for Maria for the verses you have maybe? Canon and OC ofc

//Oooohhhh this is an excellent question.... uhm okay, I think this is a bit hard for me because I've had Maria so long and some ships like I adore but I don't know if they'd work with other rpers (i.e not the originals). I'm also not massively open about canon characters I could ship her with because I don't want anyone to feel.... pressure so to speak. The questions come up though so let's put my fears aside and go for it. I've also not added any canon characters that I'm already writing.

I'm not going to specify Original Characters because honestly just throw them all at me. I've divided the canon characters up by fandom but then I've put general scenarios at the bottom!

Bond!Verse I don't really have any additional ships that I'm like hungry for..... Marvel RP Verse

Canon Characters: Steve Rogers, Bruce Banner, James Rhodey, Happy Hogan, Loki, Bucky, Yondu, Strange, Alexei, Ego, The Grandmaster, Hank McCoy, Logan, Colossus,

Batman RP Verse

Canon Characters: Bruce Wayne, Harvey Dent, Harvey Bullock, Jim Gordon, The Penguin (Colin Farrell specifically), Alfred Pennyworth, Zod, Ares.

Game of Thrones RP Verse

Canon Characters: Bronn, Sandor Clegane, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion, Jorah, Tormund, Petyr Baelish

Bridgerton RP Verse

Canon Characters: Benedict is honestly the only one that comes to mind for Bridgerton in terms of who people would actually play and the characters we've seen canon wise.....

General - From a variety of franchises

Canon Characters: Archie Hopper (OUAT), Sherlock (BBC Sherlock), Lestrade (BBC Sherlock), Hook (Hook), Giles (Buffy The Vampire Slayer), Barbossa (Pirates of the Caribbean) - There have to be so many more. Various monsters - Vampires/Dracula, Werewolves, Frankensteins, Aliens...

Star Trek RP Verse (Though I haven't rewritten this verse yet). - Movie based/Original Series/Enterprise

Canon Characters: Leonard McCoy, Spock, Scotty, Phlox, Archer, Khan.

The Boys RP Verse

Canon Characters: Homelander, Billy Butcher, Hugh Campbell (YES Hughie's dad).

SCENARIOS/TROPES I LOVE:

SUNSHINE X GRUMPY (Maria is Sunshine)

Hard Stoic men soft for Maria

Maria saving the people she loves

Soft nice guys being protected by Maria

Maria teaching someone love/to love themselves

Maria showing people they're worthy of love.

Villains soft for Maria

Villains turning Maria into a villain

Evil Maria helping villains get more power/being in the most toxic relationships - power, blood, pain, all that.

Fighting for each other.

Mutual Pining

Different stations in life - rich/poor, lady/stable boy, knight/princess

Forbidden Romance.

Opposites attract.

Soft with soft.

[silveraurea]

The lion cub

cr: pinterest

Pairings: Lannister!OFC x Ned Stark

Summary: Myrren Lannister awakens from madness as fierce as ever, and Ned regrets being neglectful of his duties as a spouse.

TW: age gap; angst; enemies to lovers; death; mention of sex.

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Chapter 07

Lady Lannister woke up with emptiness in her heart. As she dressed herself for the day, she tried to remember what had happened since she sworn to seek justice on Lord Stark’s office. The septa had lost her head, but the culprit was never found. Such a pity, the perfume oil caressed her neck, for Eddard Stark to be such a coward. Her lord husband didn’t dare to touch the lioness, nor to protect her, as if her fierceness scared him.

Myrren laughed, indeed, she was ferocious, hungry for revenge, and would make the North burn in scandal. After all, there was a debt to be paid. Brushed the curls, she could not understand why and how they turned pale, loathed their lack of color, similar to the Targaryen scum, who rightfully died by her father’s command. Hid them under an embroidered net, nothing had changed, she was a Lannister, a lioness at heart.

Sitting on her vanity, she put on the golden claw guards, her rings, the lion’s head and the dragon’s eye. The sound of a carriage made her spy over the solar: a Lannister banner approached Winterfell. Her prayers have been answered, Tywin Lannister had some compassion after all. Her eyes met joy for the first time in months, and the lady ran down the stairs.

“Celia!!”, she jumped to hug her cousin, “I can’t believe your father let you come!”.

“I pity you, cousin, all alone in this cold. What happened to your golden hair?”.

“Faded by snow and loneliness!”. Myrren turned, as a tall knight got down from a black horse. Took off his helmet, she could recognize the horrid burned face anywhere. Glad for his strong presence, she opened a dashing smile and offered her hand, “Ser Sandor!”.

“I am here as your esquire, my lady. Glad to be of service”, and put his forehead on her hand’s back.

“There is more!”, announced Celia. From another carriage, came Dina, her handmaid from Casterly Rock. Myrren joined hands with her old friend and confident, shared a joyful look. “I will serve you with my life, my lady”, the handmaid vowed behind her veil, and won a hug from Myrren. “Oh, Dina, you don’t know how difficult my life has been! It’s a blessing from the gods!”.

“Rest assured, my lady, I’ll kill those wolves if they ever threaten you again”, said the Hound, overlooking the unimpressing grey fortress.

“Lord Tywin was very upset, said the North didn’t appreciate his gift enough. If I can manage to marry one of the lords, I can stay as your lady-in-waiting and we will set up our own court!”. Celia’s eyes became starry, “You are lady of Winterfell! Those wolves can bark all they want, but will never overthrow you”.

Myrren smiled at the idea. Yes, a Lannister court in Winterfell was all she needed to gain power and get her revenge. Looked back to the castle, a man starred at the party on a window above, with a stoic, stern look.

“Is that your big wolf? How mighty!”, Lady Clegane asked.

“A coward dog, he is. I’ve never seen him behind the leather”.

“What a pity. Is he scared of fathering little lions?”.

“He will not stop me”, and waved to the window with a treacherous smile.

“Ah! I almost forgot. There is a personal gift from your father. It’s inside the third carriage, have a look!”.

Myrren approached the carriage, opened its door. Inside the painted wood, there was a lion cub, busy scratching the walls. Thrilled with happiness, Myrren took the cub in her arms, which let a small hiss at the discomfort and hugged her back.

“In Lord Tywin’s words, a lion is only safe amongst its own. Its mother died, the siblings didn’t survive. A little lioness, just like you!”.

“Poor thing, sent alone to the wolves. I shall do her company, then!”. Myrren caressed, kissed the lion cub, as if it was her own child. “Did she come from my womb?”. They all laughed at the sincerity of her words. “Come, I will show you inside”.

The days that followed were made of wine, of laughter. Celia was a dear friend, matched Myrren in her mischief. Together they would bet races on the snow, judged and bribed by Ser Sandor; hunt in the woods, never missing a single bird despite having cups filled with wine and laughter; play mythology scenes and compose poetry. The servants passed with horrified eyes, unable to follow to the party routine brought from the Red Keep.

It was night. Lady Lannister had asked Ser Sandor to cover the walls in a scarlet red fabric, with lions embroidered, and set a tent around the bed. The chamber received an embroidered carpet from Essos, made of the finest silk, and a huge mirror set in a gold frame.

Myrren laid over the pillows, touched the fine fabric above her. There were stars on the fabric, gold and silver, that met and merged into a bright north star. The amber eyes widened at the touch of her claws between her tights, it was all she ever dreamed for months, and yet he wouldn’t touch her. Closed them in agony, remembered the day his scars met a torch and he embraced her, only to slam the door to her face, and the next thing she saw was a strange child. Took a rose, threw its petals into the fire, the lioness would never rest until the wolf claimed her.

Celia seated beside her, shared her cup of wine. Myrren took it, was it her fifth? Couldn’t tell.

“Little cub. What else is on the North, besides Winterfell and the Wall?”.

“Lots of snow and cold walls, like these”. Myrren took a long sip. “You’d be bored”.

“And the minor lords?”.

“Brutes. Sworn to the posthumous Lady Stark. I’m Lady Lannister”.

“There must be a way to turn them to you. What is a court without vassals?”.

“What is the North without honor?”, added Ser Sandor, collapsing on the pillow with the wine gobbler.

While Celia was busy with the gobbler, his hand found Myrren’s, and kissed them passionately, moving towards her arm, her neck. “My lady”, he whispered, “say the word and I’ll devote myself to you”. Myrren pulled his head away by the hair. “You have to right to violate me!”, she hissed, almost craving the claws on his skin. The hound’s eyes widened by the pain, looked down , apologized. Myrren saw Celia’s hungry eyes towards him. “You two have fun”, she declared, leaving the tent. Celia kept her arm, “Won’t you join us? Please, cousin”. Myrren shook her head in denial, not believing they would betray her honor. “Disgrace yourselves all you want, I won’t take part on this”, and left the room.

Myrren found her solitude in the kitchens. A candle burned on the table, while her hands knead a dough she had made the day before, careful not to touch the claws. A shadow appeared behind her, and as she turned, looked down, then at him, in fury. Her thoughts and desires had attracted him, once more.

“A peaceful night is easily ruined by your guests. Even Lady Lannister can’t be helped”.

Pierced the silver eyes, the scars, the damned long hair she grew to crave, the leather clothes she dreamed of tearing.

“What is your wish, my lady? To make Winterfell your Lannister court?”.

Threw the dough on the table, put her arm’s strength over it. “Send me to Casterly Rock. My heart finds peace near the sea”.

Eddard approached. “I doubt your father would take you. I wouldn’t”.

Myrren looked ahead, failing to discern shapes in the dark. It was true, he had sold her to the wolves and expected her to simply survive. She was but his slave. “Pray tell, my lord, how can I best serve you? Confined in my chambers until death finds me?”.

Gave him a sly smile. “You can’t get rid of me”, she approached, “I am tied to you. My ruin will be your ruin”. Eddard stepped back as she continued, “Your honor has blinded you”. His back hit the wall. Myrren climbed on his neck, met the cold, stiff lips. Eddard frowned, his eyes wandered at the hungry lioness, in confusion, this woman could turn ashes into fire. His hand was about to encounter her waist, eager to love her rightfully, dutifully, but she had pulled away. “Forgive me, my lord. I will beg no more”, she said, and vanished in the darkness.

Eddard looked at the hand that once held her, when taken by madness. Closed his eyes in penitence, his honor had blinded him. “I shall seek you, my lioness”, he muttered to the wind.

A sack of coin slipped from the golden claws and reached the guard’s hands. Jory, Eddard’s esquire, suddenly had a stomach ache, and this noble guard would be in the office to replace him. On the next day, the same hand gave Lady Lannister a piece of scroll. Smiled to Celia and Ser Gregor. “Pack clothes, wine and sacks of gold. We will go on a tour!”.

The sun set and the three were off the king’s road, in direction of Castle Black. Stopped at a manor, was received by a vassal. “What do I have the honor, Lady Stark?”.

“It’s Lady Lannister”, Myrren corrected him. “My cousin and esquire recently came from Casterly Rock, and I wonder if you could show us some hospitality”.

The lord starred at the trio. When Lannisters knocked at the door, could be a blessing or a curse. He preferred the blessing. “Aye! Lady Lannister will feast with us, then! Call the banners!”, he ordered. Myrren took his arm, and was guided to the dining hall.

Barrels of wine were poured in cascades. The northern folk were, as Myrren thought, raw of manner and of speech, and to win their loyalty she needed to be as raw. “I have gold on my tits!”, Myrren said at some point, taking a golden coin from her breasts and tossing it on the table. “I have gold on my arse!”, she adds, tossing one from under her dress. “As you can see, the legend is true”, she laughed, sipped her wine, and exclaimed: “I shit gold!!”. The lords cheered her name.

Turning to the crowd of men, almost to leave the feast, Myrren graced them with a smile. “If you say my house words correctly, I have a gift for you”. One lad shouted, “Rear me roar!”. “Wrong”, she answered. “Well, it could be, but we don’t say it”. “A Lannister always pays its debts”, shouted another. Lady Lannister looked at who said it, winked and tossed the man a bag full of gold. “Now pay your debts to Lord Stark”. They all cheered her name, “Hail Lady Lannister!”. Myrren bowed, and left.

They feasted with the vassal lords for days, hopping from one manor to another, often attracting whispers, unwanted eyes, but at the end all sworn to Lady Lannister. They were each gifted a lion sigil to display beside the Stark flag, a sign of the marriage between the two houses. Soon the news of Lady Lannister paying their debts spread, and many lords who weren’t in debt offered to acquire debt and be on her favor.

One lord once accompanied her to the carriage. At her service, as many were, his beard scratched the back of her hand, a tender kiss. “Is there a reason you are Lady Lannister, and not Lady Stark?”. After five cups of wine, Myrren could only laugh at her misery. Leaned herself on the lad, who caught her promptly. “Lord Eddard hasn’t bedded me. I am unworthy of such honorific”. Looked at the lord, at his dark hair and eyes that swallowed her whole. “Please take me to the carriage. I’m afraid my feet will betray me if I continue”.

[plzhearmeout]

ya’lllllll

my friend drew Reina and Sandor everybody stfu

[houndofsevenhells]

“The Hound That Lies” (Sandor Clegane x Original Female Character)

SUMMARY — The hour of the wolf comes and a certain chambermaid still cannot fall asleep. She goes out for a walk to cure her insomnia and runs into none other than the Hound. Drunken confessions and deep introspection ensue.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is the "Upstairs, Downstairs" of the Red Keep that nobody asked for. Told from the perspective of another person, but very Sandor-centric. It's mostly written due to my deep adoration for him as a character. English is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes that is my fault alone.

WORD COUNT — 5,032

Masterlist

My days as a palace servant in King’s Landing started before dawn and stretched late into the night, sometimes well past the hour of the bat. The servants of the royal palace all had their place and duties and nobody stepped one toe out of line; not unless they wanted to be subject to strict punishments–or a fate even worse than that.

The royal household of king Robert Baratheon, first of his name, consisted of the usual army of servants. Aside from us, the household staff included the royal guard, the captains, the marshals, the grooms, the pages, and the Kingsguard. Those, however, stayed in the barracks and in their own palace quarters. Truth be told, we rarely saw them at all.

The army I belonged to was an army of another quality, though those in charge of it still drilled and ruled their subordinates in a way no lesser than the most sadistic of the captains. 

The first layer of those closest to the king, and therefore to gods themselves, were the seneschals, the chaplains, the stewards, the cupbearers, and the chamberlains. Then there were the wardrobe masters and the raiment mistresses, who ruled the realms of the royal garments. Under them was the head maid, who held her own regiment of nearly a hundred chambermaids that scrubbed floors, mended clothes, stripped the beds of the dirty sheets, delivered sheets and clothing to and from the laundresses, and did everything else under the sun expected of the servants of the highest quality and the lowest breeding.

The kitchen staff I knew very little of and they equally knew very little of us, the waiting staff, but we all uniformly hated the lady’s maids. They were the nobility of the servants and rarely deigned to acknowledge us, the chambermaids, for anything more than lowly serfs.

Ever since I came to King’s Landing, there was hardly any disturbance in my daily routine. As the servants we had very little money and very little spare time to spend it. Most of us lived in the servants’ quarters in the lowest parts of the keep–those that had their own families and lived in the city were considered lucky.

Most nights, if I could allow myself the luxury, I tried to fall asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. But that night, the night when I met Sandor Clegane, sleep just would not come to me. I tossed and turned until the hour of the wolf, when finally I was too fed up with myself and I went outside to the palace gardens to take a walk. 

Most of the time, even the foulest of guards would leave us serving girls well enough alone, but still I took a sharp dagger with me and hid it beneath my skirts. As I wandered the gardens alone, I tried to be as silent as possible. Taking in the air as a cure was one thing, but being an airhead would be another. And I have lived too long to allow myself to be stupid.

“Walkin’ around at night, girl? Are ya that reckless or that stupid?” A gruff voice startled me and when I turned around, a half-burned face of Sandor Clegane was right there before me, looking down on me with a sneer. 

I swallowed hard and my hand went straight to the hilt of my dagger. I felt it underneath the fingertips and it made me feel marginally safer. But the man in front of me was huge, at least two feet taller than me; his presence dark and frightful.

“Oh,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. “It’s just you.”

“Just me?” He scoffed and took one step closer. The smell of wine immediately hit my nose. He had a bottle with him and now paused to take a swig from it. “Now, I ain’t arguably the worst you can meet in those gardens at night, girl, but what in seven hells do ya mean by ‘just’?”

“I meant…”

“Hm?”

I took a deep breath and forced myself to look him right in the eye. The Hound and his menacing presence in the keep were just one of those things that one had to get used to while working for the royal family. The Baratheons and the Lannisters were united as one family now and all of us had to get used to the change of regime. 

Not that serving under the Targaryens and the Mad King had been such a privilege. 

But the fact of the matter was, I have served under the Mad King’s rule and survived. I was not about to let a Lannister dog push me around.

“Nothing. What are you doing here?” I asked.

Clegane scoffed again and for a second I thought he would try to hurt me, but then I noticed he was swaying a little and I exhaled. Most of the household staff knew that a drunk Sandor Clegane was much less menacing than a sober one. And because Clegane was never sober, usually he would release his anger in the training yard–not on the serving girls. Which was still more than what could be said about the noble Kingsguard.

“Same as you,” Clegane grumbled. “Can’t sleep. Too much to drink, too many voices, too many memories.” He looked away from me then and I thought that would be the end of our conversation, but it would seem we must have found each other on one of his chattier nights. “You get nightmares, girl?” he asked, his attention back to me.

“I do,” I replied before I could help myself. 

But that was why I was there, wasn’t it? I doubted he would remember that conversation the next day, let alone in an hour, so I decided to talk to him a little. Maybe we would bore each other to tears and then I would finally fall asleep.

“What kind?” he asked.

“What?”

“The nightmares.”

“Oh,” I sighed, “Most nights I just lay awake, full of fear, before the nightmares even happen. So most nights I just take a walk instead.”

“Does it help?”

“No.”

He laughed at that, if his particular kind of bark could even be called a laughter, and nodded as if he knew exactly what I was talking about.

“So you go out and you find me here.” He looked at me more closely and leaned forward. I did my best not to cower before him. It was not his face that frightened me. It was the height and the sheer bulk of the man that did it. Even dressed in a lighter dark surcoat instead of his usual heavy armour, Clegane could strike fear into the hearts of men with little effort.

“What do your nightmares tell you, girl?” Clegane asked and I frowned at the forwardness. 

“I do not wish to say,” I muttered. “I do not know you.”

What I meant was, I did not trust him at all. Just like the Grand Maester, Clegane was a Lannister creature. It was known. After what the palace household had lived through during the sack of King’s Landing, I would never trust a Lannister with anything.

“But that is my point, isn’t it?” Clegane took a long drink from his bottle. “You don’t know me. I don’t know you. So. You can tell me anything. You have a secret,” he pointed to me, “I have a secret.” He touched his own chest, swaying a bit once more. “I won’t tell another soul, but I know you won’t, ‘cause I’ve seen you here before, girl. No one who’s lived in this bloody place half as long as you have could survive by spilling secrets.” His half-burned lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “Or am I wrong?”

I thought about what he said and then I thought about what I saw after the sack. I only survived because I was small enough to hide in the cupboard in the pantry where the head maid stored the cleaning supplies. “Mouse” is what some of the other chambermaids called me, because I would scutter from place to place, always quick and always silent. Being a mouse had saved me that day. Mostly it saved me from the Mountain That Rides and his men.

But Sandor Clegane was not his brother, this much I knew. Just like the current king was not his horrible son. Most household staff avoided both, if they could help it–the crown prince and his horrible shadow were always together, but if you looked closely, you learned quickly that they couldn’t be further apart. I have never seen the younger Clegane hurt or kill a girl, but I have scrubbed the floors in the royal apartments where the Mountain did the unspeakable to the poor Princess Elia.

“You are not wrong,” I admitted. “I think… It sounds about right.” 

I was grateful that the gardens were shrouded in darkness, because the memories of that day brought tears to my eyes that were now threatening to spill.

“So spit it out.” Somehow, Clegane’s voice made it easier to control myself. “Do ya want to sit?” 

He walked past me then, quickly and remarkably quietly for a man of his size. He sat down on the grass and I followed his lead. 

“The night is dark, girl. No one will see you, no one will see me, no one will hear us.”

My blood ran cold then and I scolded myself for being so foolish. Was he…?

My hand went back to my dagger. I looked at his neck, then to his armpit.

It must have shown in my face, what I was thinking of, because he sneered again and took another swig of his wine, before adding:

“I meant for a conversation, fuck’s sake. If I wanted to, I could’ve killed you ages ago. Why would I bother now?” He paused. “Oh. It ain’t the killin’ you’re thinkin’ of. No, I don’t do that either, girl. I’m no raper.”

‘Unlike my brother’ hung right there in the air above us, unsaid.

I sighed and I settled on the grass beside him. Clegane took another long drink from his bottle, then passed it to me.

“No, thank you. I must refuse.”

“You must?” He scoffed. “A proper little thing, ain’t ya…”

I pursed my lips in distaste at being called that. It felt too familiar for the chance acquaintances we were.

“I used to drink a lot,” I said, finally brave enough to make my tone as harsh as I really wanted it to sound. “But I do not, not anymore. I used to drink to hide my troubles. But the problem with drink is, your troubles remain just where you left them and they haunt you the next day.”

The Hound frowned and when he spoke next his voice was heavy with surprise, but devoid of judgement:

“You used to drink a lot?” He raised a dark brow. “I’d have never thought to picture that.”

“Why, because I’m not a soldier like you?” 

I knew better than to call that man a knight, but I was tempted just to show my lack of regard for the Lannister dog.

“Nah, I suppose that doesn’t matter.” He looked away then. “So what stupid things did you do to finally make you shake the habit?”

I was surprised by the question; by the suggestion of kinship between us. But I realised there was one, whether I liked it or not.

“My mother,” I hesitated, and the Hound’s dark eyes were on me again. “My mother was a mean drunk. But when she did not drink, she was even meaner.”

Clegane looked at me then and I saw a glint of recognition in those dark, angry eyes. But then, the hour of the wolf was the darkest part of the night. I might have been mistaken.

“‘D ya fuck any strangers?”

“Not enough wine in this keep to make me fuck you, if that’s what you’re after.”

He let out a laugh. The hoarse sound of it was grating like a crunch of broken glass.

“Yeah, that ain’t what I’m after, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Well, I am glad to hear we understand each other.”

“That what you were looking for when drinking, little one? Understanding?”

“Sometimes.” I sighed. “Sometimes I drank just to feel something. You know how it is. Everyone is drunk in a tavern, everyone pretends to be each other’s friend. But that isn’t so. Strangers are not your friends, they could not be farther from it.”

“Aye, they care about nothin’ and no one other than themselves.” The Hound nodded. “Drink and pleasure, little one. That’s what the world is to ya when you ain’t careful.” He took another swig from the bottle. The smell of wine hit me again and I turned my head away. 

“And you said awful things, too, did ya?” he asked.

“Hateful things,” I whispered. “That is why I stopped. It did me no good.”

“Hateful things…” The big man rolled the words on his tongue like he was curious. “Pretty little thing like you, eh?”

“Pretty things can still be poison.”

He smirked darkly at that.

“Yes, they can. You have the truth of it, girl.” 

He was silent for a while and I turned my head towards him to check if he was still there. He was. He was looking at the guard standing beside the closest entry to the garden. The guard looked young and utterly exhausted. He swayed from time to time and Clegane seemed very amused by that.

“Yeah, usually it’s knights and us soldiers drinkin’ to forget.” He pointed at the guard. “Like him there. The men that drink too much and go around lookin’ for fights. We drink our cheap wine and our ale and then we go around lookin’ for nothin’ but trouble. Sometimes fightin’ people we’re not supposed to. Sometimes… Other things.” He took another swig.

“Sometimes I would even lay with strangers to feel better. To feel something.” 

I did not know why I said that, but that got me his attention, so I decided to throw caution to the wind and say it all:

“To feel something other than my feelings. Other than dread and sadness. But that did not happen. In the morning, my nightmares were still present.”

“I understand,” he replied and it was my turn to be shocked. “Wantin’ to feel the warmth of someone’s touch.” He said that so bitterly that I almost felt the bile in my own throat. But there was sympathy in his voice, even though it was hard to read his face, half-covered with the burn scars.

“Aye, someone to take away your pain, even if for a night.”

“Yes,” I said, surprised. “That… That was it. How…?” But then I hesitated. Of course he would understand what that was like. He wore the worst thing that had happened to him right out there on his face. There was no hiding from it, no covering it. He had to wear it every day and live with others looking upon it always. 

I felt like a fool for even asking, but the question hung there in the open. Finally, Clegane spoke:

“I know it. You thought someone would care about you, keep you warm, but in the end they never did. Did they?”

“No.” This time my answer came easier. “They never did.”

“Aye, nobody cares about people like us, little one. We are the servants. We’re here to serve.” He chuckled darkly and pushed the empty bottle away. “People don’t care a lick for ya, only for what you can give them. And when you give it… Well, then you’re no better than those slaves in Essos.”

“Is that how it feels for you?”

He turned to me so quickly that I flinched and for a second I was afraid he would attack me. But all he did was look into my own eyes; long and intently. His eyes were ones that must have seen much, but mine own had turned hard over the years, too. They no longer belonged to the girl who came to King’s Landing with songs in her head.

“Yeah.” Finally, he leaned back. “What of your family? Do they care so little about you?”

I was not always a palace maid and I had not always worked in a household as grand as the royal palace. I was born as a Rivers, in a poor hovel in the Riverlands; a ghastly place north of another village that most likely no longer existed. My mother was a drunkard, a local busty tavern wench, and due to her reputation I also had two older half-sisters. They despised me as much as I despised them.

Scrubbing floors and mending clothes had been my daily bread since the moment I could walk and take care of my own needs–that was the day I finally became useful. That usefulness took me out of that gods’ forsaken village, until little by little I travelled from the Riverlands to the Crownlands, moved from house to house in search of my own destiny, and from dusk till dawn I scrubbed and cleaned the nobles’ messes. From a lowly laundry maid at the age of seven, I worked my way up on my hands and knees, until the skin of my hands perpetually blistered and cracked from soap and lye.

“No,” I replied, my tone harsher. “There is no one.”

The Hound still looked at me like he was trying to read my face for lies. But there were none. I had no reason to lie to him. I told myself once more that he would not remember we ever had this conversation come morning.

“I have no family either,” he said grimly. “No family to speak of.”

I knew the Mountain was not dead, otherwise we all at the palace would have heard of it long ago. To now hear the admission from Clegane’s own mouth that the brothers despised each other was striking. 

“So no one cares whether we live or die,” I concluded. “I imagine that is why we accept whatever people give us. It is either that, or…” I think on it. “That, or the emptiness.”

“Aye.” His voice was softer now. “But people do bad things all the time. It ain’t the end of the fuckin’ world. Not even the end of your life. So you’re still allowed to want things.”

I frowned, trying to piece together the confusing shreds of that thought. The wine must have finally run to his head.

“Are you saying even monsters deserve to be loved?”

He laughed darkly and there was little joy in that bitter sound.

“Aye, little one. Mayhaps you are a bad person, I don’t know ya. But all of us are, in a way.”

The truths he gave me struck something within me. 

“By the gods, you are honest.�� I sigh. 

“I’m a lot of things, girl. Honest, for all my faults, is one of them.” He paused briefly. “A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face.”

We sat in silence a while, but then the big man had more questions for me:

“Don’t you ever have any desire to drink again? There must be a time when you think to yourself, just one, just to forget, just to numb the pain, just for tonight?”

I considered that. Then decided to remain truthful:

“Yes. I do sometimes, yes. But then I remember how miserable wine made me feel the next day and how much pain it caused me. And how much shame it brought me. The things I did… Remembering helped me not to drink again.”

I looked up and there was a strange, wistful look in Clegane’s eyes, as though he were remembering something.

“But it did feel good while it lasted, did it not? At least, for a time, you had no aches, no hurts, you did not feel. You could forget your pain for a while, did that not feel good?”

“Ah,” I smiled sadly. “But that is why the drink is so treacherous.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a smirk. “A cruel mistress.”

I nodded. 

“But it did make me forget,” I admitted. “Then I felt ashamed I forgot. And then it ruined me and I had let it, gladly. But in the moment, when you drink, yes, that is true. You forget the bad things. That does feel good. It is a perfect poison for those in pain and misery.”

I realised then that it was the sense of no judgement I was getting from conversing with the Hound that really drew me into this talk. He did not judge and he repaid me with honesty. That was so much more to offer than the monstrous kinds of misplaced affection I had found in King’s Landing over the years.

“Is it too much to ask that you tell me your name, girl?” 

The way he asked seemed like a taunt, but there was a strange tenderness in that scarred face that made me feel at ease, even as his dark eyes studied me so intently.

“Laina Rivers.”

“Laina Rivers.” He seemed amused by that, a faint smile playing on his scarred lips. “A pretty name for a bastard.”

I gave him a sharp look.

“There is a sad irony in that,” he said, obviously not afraid of my silent threats in the slightest.

He smiled and there was no humour in that half smile, but the anger in him had settled at least.

“So who was your father?” he asked. “What great lord fathered you and left you in the world to fend for yourself?”

“I do not know.” I stumbled through my words a little, because his bluntness struck me once more. “But I hate him sometimes. For doing so.”

The Hound nodded and then the anger resurfaced in the unburnt half of his face. The other still showed nothing. But there was another layer to his anger now; as though there was just a touch of sadness underneath it.

“You never sought after him? You don’t even know who he is?”

“No.” I shook my head. “My mother told me very little. And she was always angry when I asked. So I stopped asking. I was a skittish child, always desperate for her to love me. I wanted to please her, to be a good daughter. Especially since I had two sisters to compete with.”

“And did it work?” He sneered. “Did your mother love you?”

“Not the way I wanted her to,” I replied, my voice barely louder than a whisper. What was that strange power he possessed that made me want to confess to him so easily?

“She loved me in her own way, I believe. But she was not kind. I think she despised having bastard daughters, despised us for being bastards. Even though that was not our fault.”

“No, it is not your fault,” he agreed and hearing that almost brought the tears back to my eyes. 

There was sadness in his voice, I could hear it for true. The masks were starting to come off.

“It is never the fault of the child,” he continued. “Yet they have to suffer. That just shows how this fuckin’ world is, ain’t it?”

I remained silent, but he still expected me to say something. And I was too interested in the conversation to leave now.

“What about your own parents? Did they love you?”

For a long moment, Clegane remained silent, as though he wanted to give me a different answer; considered it, to avoid giving the real one. But it did not seem like his heart was in it. Finally, he spoke, with some hesitation:

“No, my father did not love me. And my mother, well – I do not know if she hated me, loved me, or just did not bother to see that I existed at all.”

It was so hard to hear that I could not speak for a long while. 

“When did you get these scars?” I asked carefully.

“I was seven.”

He knew I knew then, or at least that I suspected, and now had my suspicions confirmed. I straightened my back and he waited for me to say something, but I would not. I would not intentionally harm him with my words now, I refused. Even if he was a Lannister creature.

“But you are true-born, are you not?” I said instead, frowning, and tried to reconcile what he said with my own conviction. 

His laugh was like snarling dogs in a pit.

“That does not guarantee a parent’s love, little one. My father was a lord, you know. And a cruel, bitter man.”

That was not the moment to remark on his own bitterness and so I held my tongue.

“No, I suppose being a lord’s son does not guarantee it,” I muttered. “But for the longest time I thought… I thought that if only I had a real name, if I was true-born then maybe my mother would be kinder. Maybe she–”

“No, if she cared, she would have loved you no matter what.” The Hound sighed. My mouth nearly gaped at that answer. 

“There are many bastards who are not high-born and who still have good parents,” he said. “It is not about your name or birthright. It is about whether there is hatred in a person’s heart. And by your account, your mother did not have much love in hers.”

I sat there in shock at the profound truth that came from this man’s mouth. 

“I misjudged you,” I admitted and immediately felt my face grow hot with embarrassment.

“Aye.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am used to it.”

“But,” I said, “that is also why I left the Riverlands. I went from place to place, finding work and getting good at being a maid. I was looking for something to replace that love. And when I came to King’s Landing… Well, now I work in the palace.” I laughed bitterly. “A lot of fucking good it got me.”

He laughed then with me, a deep and harsh guffaw.

“Aye, King’s Landing. The place where every man and woman goes when they think their talents would amount to something. So many people lie and die in this stinking hell, so many more become lordlings and queens and kings… Aye, they all think they’re something special. Something more.” He pauses and looks at me with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “Did you fall for their lies, too?”

“I did.” I nodded. I felt ashamed for having been so naive.

“You are not alone,” he said, almost like he was mocking both of us. “This place chews people up and spits them out like they are nothing. It’s the worst of men, the biggest of fools, the lowest of scum that the Seven Kingdoms have to offer. All gathered here for the pleasure of the royals.”

I wondered then how come he was not afraid to say what he thought; why did he said it so openly. All my life I had obeyed every rule and strict guidance of my superiors. I received a lashing once and I still bore the scars of it on my back. I vowed never to let my tongue waggle ever again.

Any palace chambermaid found gossiping, or behaving in a way unbecoming of a decent lady, would be punished–or worse, thrown out and left without income, forced to leave His Grace’s employment with a stained reputation and no way to fend for herself. 

So I decided to ask:

“How is it that you are not afraid to just speak your mind? This place is crawling with whisperers. Don’t you have a lord or a master that would punish you for speaking so?”

The Hound smiled, almost as though he was amused at the thought.

“Why should I be afraid? They are all afraid of me.” He shrugged. “Who cares what these nobles think? The people who know me already know I speak my mind, and the ones who don’t have heard stories. And as for my master, I have none. I have no one to answer to besides the king, and he doesn’t care a lick about the likes of me.”

“I think I have heard the stories,” I admit.

“Aye. A famous man, me.” He leaned towards me, his voice hard again. “You know why they call me the Hound?”

I shook my head, though my eyes went to his chest where the sigil of his house was plain as day on his surcoat – three black snarling dogs on a yellow field.

“It is because I hunt down their prey for them. Anyone they ask me to, I ride them down. Criminals, traitors, even children… I have cut down many in my life and only some of them were monsters.”

We were silent then, until he spoke again:

“Many different names they call me, but I mislike that one the most.”

“I understand.”

“Do you now?”

“I do. Of course I do. A hound is a dog used for hunting and it is an animal, not a person. The man sitting here with me is just that, a man. Not a dog.” 

He is rendered speechless after that and we look at each other for the longest moment.

“How old are you, girl?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You speak with the knowledge of someone older, yet you are small and slight and so I wonder…” He reached towards me and I forced myself to stay in place. For some reason, I knew he would not harm me.

Clegane touched my shoulder and it was as if to check that I was real.

“I am old enough,” I said, slightly amused. “And I hope to talk to you again sometime. But it will dawn soon and I must go back to my duties.”

“Aye.” Clegane smiled at that and I smiled back. “Fare-thee-well, Laina Rivers.”

“Fare-you-well, Sandor Clegane.”

[drymushroomfics]

Fraye Hill of House Lannister

Next

Chapter One

   Fraye Hill was basically the ward of Jamie Lannister. On a trip, Jamie had found her as a baby on the side of a gravel road. He could've killed her but something inside of him couldn't do it. He brung her to Casterly Rock before his sister had married King Robert. They all urged him against it but he fought to have her raised with the Lannisters. She remained at Casterly Rock until Joffrey was king.

            She stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the Lannisters; all golden blonde while her hair was black as night. She was raised with privilage even though she was not a Lannister. She loved to read and Tyrion Lannister read to her a lot as a child. They got along well and she knew she could always count on him. Tywin Lannister, on the other hand was a a bit harder to get a long with. Even though he scolded her, he knew how smart she was. She took to any task he put in front of her. She read a lot about war and battle. She was great at battle tactics. She had asked if she could assist in army affairs but he refused. He had stated that ladys do not concern themselves with swords and battle. He had even tried to marry her off when had turned 16 but she refused. He was angry for a while but told her that she had until the age of 19. If she had not married by then, he would see to it that she had to do as he choosed. She had agreed reluctantly. It angered Cersei Lannister. She hated being forced into marriage and she hated even more that Tywin didn't force you right away. Cersei didn't love Robert but she loved her children.  Fraye wasn't liked by Joffrey either. He had always hated her. He called her a rat and said she belonged in the trenches. She never liked him either. He was a spoiled brat who didn't understand who lucky he was. Now that he was king and her 19th name day was approaching, Joffrey would force the worst person upon her. He knew of her agreement to Tywin and the fact that he had promised a celebration for her name day, she knew nothing good would come of it.

             Fraye was known to be devilishly beautiful and had many marriage offers but she refused all. She refused to marry anyone she didn't feel something for. Now that her name day was approaching, she'd have to choose fast. That's where Kingslanding's Guard dog came in. She had seen him as soon as she arrived. He was standing beside Joffrey's throne. They had looked at each other. Something about him intruiged her right away. She wanted to know his story and she was going to find it out.

a/n: This is my first Sandor Clegane fic. I'm using an original female character. There will be themes of rape/non-consent and violence at times. I'm open to suggestions and let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy!

[crossingworldssandorfanfiction]

An Angry Reunion

Chapter Twenty-Four. Aurora and Sandor are reunited. 

Warnings: Lots of arguing, swearing, implied sexy times. 

Aurora nearly broke down in tears. She couldn't believe it. Sandor was alive! He wasn't wearing his armor and looked a little thinner than the last time she saw him. His hair and beard were both much thicker and he seemed to be walking with a limp, but it was him nonetheless. When he spoke, part of her wanted to laugh while the other wanted to run and hide. He pointed an ax at one of the archers and threatened, "Put it away, girl. Tougher girls than ya have tried ta kill me." His voice was music to her ears.

               She couldn't take her eyes off him as he assisted Beric in hanging three men who had besmirched the name of the Brotherhood. When the hanging was done, Beric met Aurora's gaze across the camp, silently communicating a question. She shook her head. She couldn't face Sandor yet, no matter how much she wanted to. She needed to compose herself first. So, she kept her head down and left the camp. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't able to escape before Sandor noticed.

               "Scared ya off already?" Aurora froze before exhaling deeply. No going back now. Turning back toward him, she slowly removed her hood. "Have I ever been afraid of you, Sandor?" she asked, her soft voice threatening to crack. Still, she held her ground and let her eyes find his beautiful brown ones that couldn't seem to hide his surprise.  She could only hold his gaze for a moment before she felt her resolve not to cry beginning to crumble. So, she turned and headed toward the river near camp.

               Sandor watched in shock as Aurora walked away. Then, one of the brothers followed after, placing a hand on her shoulder when he caught up to her. Sandor felt his stomach twist unpleasantly as a feeling that could only be described as jealousy rose in his chest. That only lasted a moment before anger took over. He wanted nothing more than to stalk after them both. The only thing to stop him was Thoros. "She needs time."

               Sandor glared at him. Deciding to ignore Thoros' advice to leave it, Sandor followed Aurora. He had a few things to say to her and they couldn't wait in his mind. He found the man that had gone with Aurora first. He was facing the direction Sandor was coming from and his hand was on the hilt of his sword. "Where is she?" The man cringed at the tone of Sandor's voice. Without saying a word, he gestured behind him toward the river. "Go," Sandor barked. The young man didn't need to be told twice. He took off back toward the camp.

               Once he was gone, Sandor turned back to where he'd indicated and found exactly who he was looking for. She was kneeling by the river, splashing water on her face. She heard the footsteps behind her and she stood spinning around with her hand on her sword. Seeing Sandor, she released the hilt and sighed deeply. "Sandor." The way she said his name almost made him relent. Almost.

               "Where the fuck were ya?!" She blinked at him in surprise. "Excuse me?" She crossed her arms over her chest in her usual defiant manner. "Where the fuck have ya been? What business do ya have being with the Brotherhood? Ya fuckin' any of 'em?!" No sooner were the words out of his mouth did he feel the stinging sensation of her hand across his cheek. "How dare you?! First off, why would I sleep with any of them? They aren't you! Second, I thought you were dead! Can you blame me for trying to find some sense of protection?"

               "Ya didn't bother to stick around to see that I didn't die. I was at the bottom of that cliff for days, dyin' and you were nowhere to be found! The woman that said she loved me just took off without even checkin' ta see if I was alive." Aurora's fists were balled at her sides. "I wasn't here, you ass! I was sent back home and was there for a year. I didn't even want to come back. There was no point if you were dead!" She could feel the tears rising in her eyes the longer she argued with him.

               Sandor let her words sink in. She hadn't been in Westeros? He'd spent so long angry with her, thinking she'd abandoned him when he needed her most. Now, here she was again, telling him off once more. He took in her form as he waited for her temper to wane. Her bright green eyes had lost some of their naive innocence and she had a few worry lines, but she was as beautiful and feisty as ever. "I will take your silence as an apology."

               He brought his eyes back to hers and began laughing. A real laugh. Something he hadn't done in so long. It was then that Aurora finally let herself cry and, for the first time since leaving Westeros, they weren't tears of pain or sadness. They were tears of relief. "God, I missed you," she muttered before throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him close.

               For a second, Sandor just stood there, unable to believe Aurora was there with him again. Then, he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed gently. It was as if she never left. She still fit almost perfectly against him, even with her small frame. After holding her moment, he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist. She evidently got the message as she urgently pressed her lips to his. Sandor's grip on her tightened and Aurora was glad he was holding her. Her legs had gone weak nearly immediately. When they parted, Aurora's eyes were wide and her breath was coming in pants.

               No words were exchanged as Sandor looked into her eyes. They were practically pleading with him and this time, he knew he wouldn't tell her no. He'd missed her too much and, with all those other men around, she had to show him he had no reason to be jealous. He set her on her feet and removed her cloak. Within what seemed like seconds, she was bare before him and she was helping him out of his own clothes. The rest of the camp soon heard the evidence of their activities carrying on the wind.

[royalydamned-archive]

MASTERLIST

GAME OF THRONES

Sandor Clegane x reader

LUCIFER

Michael Demiurgos x reader

SHERLOCK BBC

Mycroft Holmes x reader

DC

Abner Krill

SUPERNATURAL

Crowley x OFC

NOW YOU SEE ME

Merritt Mckinney x reader

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY

The Swedes

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE

Kingo x reader

Norman Osborn (Green Goblin) x reader

HARRY POTTER

Albus Dumbledore x Gellert Grindelwald

Severus Snape

[i-drink-and-i-write-fics]

Author reveal!

Here’s me with my abuelita and two tias!

Wait…it’s supposed to be a current photo?

Sonofabitch

Welp, you’ll have to wait for me to make myself look human. Or I post a 2 yr old photo 🤣

Anyway, the point of this post was to let you all know I have finished moving my stories!

So I will be resuming my rotation. For all new followers, I don’t have a writing schedule just because my life is insane. But I do try to stick to my rotation.

Rotation as follows:

Avoidance - Logan x GN!Reader

Dragon Queen - Thor x Fem!Reader

The Ranger & The King - Aragorn x GN!Reader

Timeless Warrior - Lord Elrond x Phoenix (OFC)

Father’s Day - Loki x Fem!Reader

The Wolf & The Hound - Sandor Clegane x Fem!Reader

Broken Glass - Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Plus, one I put on hold to take care of my requests:

Let Nature Take Her Course - Everett Ross x Juna (OFC)

And one I put on hold because I can’t find an ending:

Mirror - Bucky Barnes x Sonya (OFC)

Requests are still closed! You will be the first to know when they open back up as I will pin the rules to the top of my page.

So thank you all new followers and everyone for your patience. 

💙 Marvelous Mutant