'When you play the Game of Thrones,
You win.
Or you die.
There is no middle ground.'
In which the Princess of the Storm is spun into a whirlwind of chaotic events, all beginning with a single choice to choose Lord Eddard Stark as the new Hang to the...
~~~ MOON TEA ~~~ *TALK OF RAPE, IF TRIGGERING READ AT OWN RISK*
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DAHLIA WAS IN AND OUT OF SLEEP WHEN THEY REACHED THE RED KEEP. She laid in her bed, the sheets felt soft and smelt clean, as if they had just been changed. Her brain ached and her ears rung, pain spread across her hand and forehead, stinging and stiff. Her stomach yearned for something to eat, her throat begged for water, her legs felt tight and ached for movement. She did not know how long she had been in bed for, but she was fearful to imagine.
Then a smell drifted into her nose, it smelt like iron. Some would say it was a unflattering smell, but it reminded Dahlia of home, and she yearned for home.
She remembered Griffin's Roost, the sheer beauty of it. The tall hill it sat on, the towers that were rounded and strong, the massive Griffin statues that guarded the gates and the secret passageways and corridors that only few knew of. The small bridge that brought visitors, the beach, that if sometimes you looked hard enough, you could see the tall walls of Storms End off in the distance. She missed her home, more than anything, especially her mother who was more than likely wondering why she hadn't returned yet. Not knowing of whether her daughter was alive or dead. It pained Dahlia even more than her aching body to even think of her mother.
She willed herself to open her eyes, using all her energy to do a simple task, and once she had, brightness struck her. It blinded her at first, and she could barely keep her eyes open with her eyelashes the weight of lead. Her chest heaved for air, but the room was full of heat that she nearly choked on it. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and her mind screamed for cool air, she would do anything to be plunged into freezing cold waters.
Dahlia forced her body to move, beginning with her toes, then fingers and eventually her legs. It was like a child not deciding whether they liked the cold or not, kicking the blankets off and dropping their legs on top, that's how Sandor Clegane saw it anyways.
He stood at her door, guarding her for four days, not just because Joffrey commanded it, but because Sandor genuinely wanted to. He wasn't sure why, but a part of him wanted to stay by her, which made him even more confused. She was a small, fragile girl, innocent and afraid, but somehow, he found himself wanting to protect her against anything and everything. When the riot began, his first thought drifted to her, but he had a duty to protect the King, he despised his choice to choose the Boy King over a small woman who's blood would be spilled over a child's violence.
But that didn't stop him from looking back.
When the shit had first been thrown, he immediately turned back for Dahlia, searching for her crown of ebony in the crowd. He had seen the faintest glimpse of her worried expression as she held onto Sansa Stark. Then she was lost.
Once he had stuffed Joffrey inside the small building he went back out into the crowd, slaughtering men and women looking for Dahlia. He didn't see a glimpse of her black hair, or pale skin, or her dark eyes. He watched for her emerald silks in the crowd of rough spun clothing, but no silk could be seen. Sandor didn't find her until hours later when the sun had drifted below the horizon. She was half-naked, her skin felt like ice in his palms and her tiny breaths couldn't be heard. Sandor was no idiot, seeing the men around her was confusing enough, but he knew what those men had done, or attempted to do. He wondered how she fought them off, if it was her that did the fighting, let alone survive. Sandor found himself second-guessing her, perhaps she wasn't as useless as he originally thought.
