'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...
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THE HOUND WATCHED AS DAHLIA PICKED A SMALL WHITE FLOWER. Her long, slender fingers clutched the small, green stem, her fingers touching the petals with fondness as she brought it to her nose, taking a small sniff and placing it in her basket. The sun was shining today, as was Dahlia while she moved through the gardens as if she hadn't a care in the world. She wore a taupe gown today, a colour that was cross between dark and light that brought out the brown in her eyes. She had worn her hair down today, the long dark locks drifting passed her shoulders, ending at her waist. She glided through the gardens like a breeze, shifting from here one moment, then here another. She was like a ghost, quiet and quick and almost gone unseen by the Hound on numerous occasions.
She had adjusted well after the attack, and spent almost every day outside, soaking in the sun. She didn't say much, merely drifted around the gardens or around the Keep in an attempt to occupy her time. The Hound was beginning to think more of this girl as she fluttered around him like a butterfly, there was something so familiar about her that he couldn't put his finger on.
They had spoken much more since the night they spent together, but Dahlia didn't make her disappointment of him leaving early in the morning known. But as the weeks passed, Dahlia and become even closer with Sandor, and had been getting small and enjoying conversations from him, and the same was with him.
But what Dahlia was most thankful for, since the night he had remained with her in her chambers, Dahlia had never slept better, and she was thankful he continued to sleep in her room protecting her as he had done. Sometimes, Dahlia would not sleep, but look upon him with such adoring eyes she could hardly contain her hummingbird heart. Despite what many had said, Sandor Clegane was not ugly, or completely violent, he had a softness in him that Dahlia believed not many had seen; but she believed she had.
The Flower of Griffin's Roost moved towards a bench, seating herself down and scanning through the flowers she had picked. From pinks, to purples, to white and reds she examined all of them before revealing a small knife. The Hound moved forward quickly to snatch the knife from her hands, Dahlia looked up at him, retracting her hand and frowning. "I'm cutting off the stems," she spoke innocently, her large dark eyes looking up at him with a smile. He watched as she sliced off the chunky stems of the flowers she had picked, a craft that she skilfully seemed to master as she delicately shortened the green stems.
Dahlia felt the Hound's stare on her, she could feel his eyes examining her closely. She enjoyed feeling him watching her, looking over her with complete fascination. Dahlia admitted that she would often watch him, imagining him with a smile, or even a hint of amusement.
Although, Dahlia knew that her position in Kings Landing was only temporary, and her connection with Sandor Clegane would be broken sooner or later. A part of her scolded herself for allowing such a bond to form between them, but the naive lovesick child that Dahlia used to be cheered with excitement for the connection between the two. But Dahlia knew better, she knew better than to allow her heart to be given to Sandor, mostly because it could never happen, and because she believed he'd never take it.
