Got One-Shots Book 2

Lord Stark's Guard(Sandor Clegane x fem!reader)

You scanned your surroundings as you approached the city of King's Landing, eyes peeled for any threat to you or your lord. You were Lord Eddard Stark's guard, but no one outside of the lord's traveling company knew that. You dressed as a handmaiden and kept to yourself unless you were needed. You did your job and you were good at it. However, for all your surveying, you failed to notice the pair of eyes that kept wandering to you.

Sandor Clegane knew there was something different about you but he couldn't place it. You looked just like any other handmaiden he'd ever seen. True, you appeared to be more observant than most, but still you were just another woman. Weren't you? Sandor wasn't so sure and he had good instincts most of the time.

It wasn't until you actually made it to King's Landing that Sandor figured out exactly what was different about you. He was taking a much needed break from following Joffrey around and made his way to the practice yard. When he got there, he saw two people already in the middle of a match. One of them was Jory Cassel. The other was you. Sandor stopped walking, choosing to watch from a distance.

You moved with a practiced grace, as if you'd been holding a sword your whole life. You knew to watch your opponents entire body language and their eyes, not just their feet or arms. You were able to block most of Jory's attacks. The match lasted long. Much longer than Sandor thought. You were actually very good. You knocked Jory's practice sword to the dirt and the man surrendered. "I concede, Y/N. You have surpassed my teaching." You grinned and hugged him.

Sandor decided to move closer so he could talk to you. "You're not a handmaiden, are ya?" You blinked in shock. Sandor had never said two words to you before. "Um...no I am not. I am one of Lord Stark's guards." Jory smiled and gave you a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Until tomorrow." He turned and walked away, leaving you and Sandor mostly alone. Jory didn't go far. He wanted to keep you safe. Sandor picked up a practice blade and looked at you in question. You nodded and raised your own wooden sword.

If Sandor had been impressed with your skills by watching you, he was even more so now while he was fighting you. You lasted longer against him than many of the gold cloaks. Still, Sandor was a big man with a lot of stamina and you eventually ran out of steam. With one final blow, you fell to your back in the dirt. Sandor lowered his blade and offered you his hand. Grinning widely, you took it and let him help you up.

You dusted yourself off and thanked him for the match. "Why do ya pretend to be somethin' you're not?" he asked suddenly. "It was Lord Stark's idea. If I look unassuming, people will underestimate me. They won't be expecting a handmaiden to be able to wield a sword and actually know how to use it properly. It gives me an advantage." Sandor nodded. "He's a smart man."

You looked up at Sandor. "Thank you for the match, Clegane. I rather enjoyed an even fight. Perhaps we could do it again? I am certain I could learn a lot from you." Sandor was taken aback. You were considering spending more time with him. No one did that. Most people were too afraid of him. "Yeah," was all he said and you laughed. "Wonderful! I look forward to it!" With that, you skipped off leaving Sandor behind.

The two of you trained together even few days for several months. When you sparred with Sandor, one of you always managed to strike up conversation somehow. You got to know the gruff man and he got to know you. There was something about him that you were attracted to and you couldn't deny it. However, you were certain he saw you only as a sparring partner that could keep up with him. Until one day.

After some time, the two of you decided to forgo the practice blades and use your real swords instead. You had formed a trust and knew Sandor wouldn't intentionally harm you. So, you fought with him. Toward the end of the match, you felt something cut your arm. You'd hadn't been fast enough to parry Sandor's blow and the blade sliced your arm. You gave a little cry but continued on until the blood began to seep through the sleeve of your dress. Sandor stopped.

He didn't apologize and you didn't expect him to. You had known the risks. Instead, he sheathed his sword and gently took your uninjured arm. He lead you back inside the Keep to a set of chambers you'd never been in before. Without speaking, he made you sit in a chair while he busied himself at the washbasin.

Sandor came back over to you and glanced down at the sleeve of your gown in question. You nodded before ripping the sleeve so he could get to the wound. Crouching down, he went to work washing it while you watched his face. His heavy brow was furrowed in concentration and his hair was sticking to the scarred side of his face, which was closest to you. Using your free hand, you reached up and moved his hair before running your fingers across the scarred flesh.

Sandor instantly froze and you nearly jerked your hand back. He stopped you by taking your hand in his. His gaze rose to meet yours. "What are ya doin'?" You shrugged slightly and answered, "I wanted to touch your face." Sandor grunted and returned his attention to your wound. He hadn't said he didn't like it so you resumed the action, not missing the deep red blush that was covering the back of his neck.

Even when Sandor was finished cleaning your cut, you stayed that way. He remained crouched in front of you, his gaze on your arm while your fingers ran over his face. The intimacy of the act didn't go unnoticed by either of you. Eventually, Sandor caught your hand in his again. "I need ta stitch your wound or we'll risk infection. I can't if you're distractin' me." You dropped your hand and let Sandor go about his work. When he was finally finished, he moved to stand.

Before he could, you cupped his face with your hand, once more allowing the smooth skin of your palm touch the rough skin of his cheek. As you gazed into his eyes, nothing was said. There were no words that could describe what either one of you were feeling. So, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, looking into his eyes as he looked back into yours.