GOT ➨ Game of Thrones One Shots

Sandor Clegane x Reader | Beneath The Monster, Lies a Man

// set around the time we found out The Hound was still alive, and had just left the village encampment of people building the sept, that nursed him back to health to go and kill those who slaughtered them all. You will come into play here... //

Grey sky, damp grounds. The rain had only stopped an hour ago, and you had been out riding North all through the night. The situation at King's Landing growing ever more brutal, and with distant umber cousins at the Last Hearth, you decided the drizzly weather and cold nights were worth a safer homeland.

You and your horse had grown weary after days of slogging onwards with only brief breaks, having only had an hours sleep in 48 hours out of worry for the bandits lurking in the dark, and you being on your own on the open road- so your horse merely crept along wearily, as you hung loosely onto the reigns, head on the beautiful chestnut mare's mane.

Approaching a fork in the path, you steer left down a steady drop into the bumpy woodland path, cutting away from the threat of passing through Bolton land and ending up flayed on a cross by the unpredictable Bolton soldiers- or worse. The chestnut steed began to nervously flick about, the darkness encumbering you both through the sudden shade of trees. All was quiet, spare the occasional twittering or rustling of wildlife fleeing from the heavy thump of the horse's hooves.

It took you a while to realise, but things had gotten almost too quiet. The animals weren't chirping any more and there were no more to flee. Sitting up on your horse, you scan around you, back straight, tensing every muscle. This was odd- no woodland in Westeros grew so quiet in the middle of the day. Even the giddy horse was quiet, as it flicked about and- stopped.

You tap it's side lightly with your feet to get it going again, only to receive a rough neigh in response and to be thrown back off your horse.

You're hardly able to get your senses about you before the yells and thuds of others encircle, and you're surrounded by men with the signet of the Brotherhood Without Banners. Confused at why men with a noble cause would be after you without reason, you raise your hand to speak up and protest your innocence- but are kicked to the mud, blacking out.

Whining. Pain. Misty vision. As your eyes flutter open, you see before you 4 men sitting around a campfire, chuckling quietly and speaking foul about all manner of things- you whimper.

They noticed. Turning sharply, they began to eye you up with nasty delight, "Well look 'ere, the little bitch has finally woken up."

Quivering slightly, you opened your mouth, again, to speak as you had before. After brief hesitation with no interruption, you spoke, "Y-you're with the brotherhood? I-I'm not someone you'd want, I don't h-have any information an-and I'm not an enemy-"

"Yeah, well, we're on a mission of our own. Consider it, a bit of a pilgrimage." One of them cut you off, chuckling. Only a few seconds passed by before the leanest, smallest of the four men was done with his hungry staring, and spoke up himself, "Lucky we are out here pilgrimaging if it's lead us to a saintly find like this then eh?" The sentence came out in a purr, and you shuffled backwards against the tree that constrained you as he made his move forward, kicking out your legs in a hap-hazardous defence and screaming out of some sheer hope and faith.

It wasn't faith that saved you, but it was two fates colliding.

As the pig grazed his bony fingers across your cheek, a towering figure struck him from the side, earning a grunt of pain and a sudden stroke of blood. He fell awkwardly to the floor as the figure retracted his weapon, a large war axe, with a slick squelch- and stood in front of you. You stiffened, as his slight turn of the head acknowledged your presence, "One moment."