Favorite Game of Thrones Dialogues

чσυ dσ киσω нεя {7•06}

—Sandor Clegane's POV—

Sandor's shoes were tightly wrapped around his slightly oversized feet. It seemed like there were hundreds of layers of leather and fur, which did not make it look any prettier. Although Sandor had never cared about his looks, this somewhat bothered him. The way everything was so properly organized gave him the creeps, which he hid to the best of his ability. He had tried making it a bit less organized, taking the black colored leather strands and tying them randomly together, but still everything looked too neat for his taste. Instead of coordinating the leather, he gave up and put them back to where they had been in the beginning. What knight cared about the appearance of his shoes? The last strand was just in place when he heard heavy footsteps approaching from behind.
"You're the one they call The Dog", a croaky voice said. This byname had haunted Sandor for as long as he could remember. To recall the day where it began to annoy him was sure difficult, since anger affected his memory badly. But The Dog? Sandor thought to himself. Any man called that would eventually lose his mind. It was only a matter of time before Sandor did as well.
"Fuck off", he responded in as much a nonchalant tone as he could muster.
The man chuckled discreetly.
"They told me you'd be mean", the voice told him from behind. "Were you born mean or you just hate wildlings?" he asked.
Sandor now looked the man right into his eyes. In an attemt to control the chock he was instantly met by he looked down and cleared his throat. The man in front of him was the exact epitome of a wildling. Not especially taller than the average length, but the enormous hair on his head making him at least a few inches taller. 'Kissed by fire' was the phrase the redheads used to describe their hair color nowadays, which bothered Sandor to an extent he could not speak of. Whomever proud of being a redhead was dead to him already, their honor being as easy to kill as picking his teeth, Sandor thought. But still, it was undeniable that this man was a rare sight to say the least. The scorching red hair did not stop growing at his temples, nor beneath his ears. The wildling-man had a ginormous set of beard too, which made Sandor consider making a why-I-hate-redhead-wildlings list after as soon as he could.
"I don't give two shits about wildlings", Sandor spat out as an answer to the man's question. "Gingers I hate."
The man - whose name apparently was Tormund - looked as shocked as any wildling man could.
"Gingers are beautiful", he replied as he got closer. "We're kissed by fire, just like you."
Sandor looked up once again to be met by one of Tormund's giant fingers pointing out the evident imperfection on his face. Great, he thought. The phrase he couldn't give two shits less about and someone pointing out one of the few weaknesses Sandor had. His scar. Nothing he was proud of. The damage had happened a very long time ago, but he could still feel the heat from the fire that had burned and left a permanent mark on his face.
"Don't point your fucking finger at me", Sandor snapped while shoving Tormund's hand away. He walked away determined, but could feel the mans triumphant smile behind his back.
"Did you trip into the fire when you were a baby?" Tormund asked, who apparently was following him.
"I didn't trip, I was pushed", he answered, not having the energy to care about what he said and what he did not.
"And ever since you've been mean", said Tormund, laughing to himself.
"Will you fuck off?" Sandor grunted. He had never met a man this much a pain in the ass as this one.
"I don't think you truly mean it", Tormund said back to him, not the slightest bit annoyed. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself. "You have sad eyes."
Sandor had to hold a chuckle. What in the fuck was this wildlingboy rambling on about? Sad fucking eyes? Seven hells.
"You want to suck my dick, is that it?" Sandor sassed. The question caused Tormund to immediately frown his hairy eyebrows.
"Dick?" he wondered.
"Cock."
"Ahh", Tormund said, suddenly realizing the meaning of the word. "Dick. I like it."
"Bet you do", Sandor giggled, while walking away once again. As if determined steps would put an end to the conversation, Sandor exaggerated his pace. The slight hope for a walk in silence was yet again crushed when the redhead opened his mouth for the two-hundredth time in under three minutes.
"Nope, it's pussy for me", Tormund said briskly. "I have a beauty waiting for me back at Winterfell, if I ever get back there. Yellow hair, blue eyes", he said dreamily. "And the tallest woman you'll ever see." He paused for a time. "Almost as tall as you", he added in. Realization struck Sandor.
"Brienne of Tarth?" he asked for confirmation.
"You know her?" Tormund said, surprised.
"You're with Brienne of fucking Tarth?" he asked once again. As if this man hadn't already got on his nerves enough for four life-times.
"Well", Tormund started. The cocky wildling tried his best to hide a slight blush. "Not with her yet. But I've seen the way she looks at me."
Sandor laughed sarcastically.
"The way she looks at you?" he asked rhetorically. "Like she wants to carve you up and eat your liver?"
"You do know her!" Tormund exclaimed, filled with excitement.
"We've met", Sandor stated, trying to avoid getting into how.
"I want to make babies with her". Tormund kept going. "Think of them, great big monsters, they'll conquer the world!" he said happily.
Sandor sighed.
"How did a mad fucker like you live this long?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"I'm good at killing people."

—

I haven't really read this through so I'm sorry if there are typos! Hope you liked this though!