Sandor Clegane

You spent the entire evening surrounded by laughter, feasting, and overflowing tankards. It was the eve of the grand final of the Hand of the King’s tourney, held in honour of your father, Eddard Stark. He had not attended that day, preoccupied with other matters, but he would be present for the final joust the next day. You enjoyed the company of your betrothed, Prince Joffrey, who, to your surprise, had been utterly charming.

By the time the moon was high, you knew it was time to return to the castle. Septa Mordane, who was meant to escort you, lay slumped over the table, defeated by wine. With disdain, Joffrey ordered Sandor Clegane to take you back.

on the way to the castle you avoided looking at him—his mere presence unnerved you. Not just the scar that marred his face, but everything about him. He noticed. Suddenly, he halted and seized your chin.

—Do I frighten you? —he murmured, voice thick with drink—. Am I so monstrous you can’t even look at me, little bird?