Author's Note: This is an AU and was written after the TV show. It was also written before I read the novels, so my apologies for any and all possible mis-interpretations of these characters.

Also a tip of the hat to Caroh99 whose lovely take on Sandor's grandfather in her tale 'How Fragile the Heart' inspired much of this tale.

Disclaimer: All this belongs to GRRM and the prospective writers of the HBO series GOT

Beta Readers: A huge thank you goes to Weshallflyaway for all her help and for convincing me this might be worth posting after all.

The gold armour was so polished that it practically shone. Every scale, every plate had been carved, shaped and painted with painstaking care. Even the cloak was a brilliant-almost blinding-shade of white. He could only imagine the sort of skill and many hours of work fine craftsmanship that had gone into its creation. In stunned silence, the Hound held the Kingsguard uniform that the boy king had presented him moments ago. As a young boy, Sandor had once dreamt of serving as a knight in the Kingsguard. In his young mind only the most noble and chivalrous were considered worthy of the prestigious title. That was a life time ago; before the ugly truth about knights was reveal to him, before the fire, and before Gregor had destroyed it all.

'My uncle says an obedient dog deserves a fitting reward,' the boy-king said in proud tones. Joffrey was clearly pleased with himself, he expected the Hound to be pleased as well. Some part of Sandor knew he should feel honoured, but he was not that naïve boy anymore; had not been for many years. Instead he felt unclean.

'I'm no knight, and I've sworn no oaths. What is this about, Your Grace?' he rasped, not bothering to look at the boy king.

Joffrey too had his own romantic ideals. Sandor knew the boy saw himself as some sort of noble king; bestowing a great honour upon his favourite dog. 'A king could not ask for someone more loyal. You have served me well, Hound. It is time you received what is rightfully yours.'

The sincerity of the boy's words was unnerving. Joffrey may be a fool, but Sandor was not. He knew that everything came at a price.

'Who died?' the Hound asked. Only seven members were permitted to serve in the Kingsguard; some pointless religious symbolism, no doubt. Sandor briefly wondered who represented the Mother amongst their numbers, and who represented the Maiden. Two names came to mind, forcing him to bury the thought to keep from laughing outright.

'No one died! You will speak to me with respect, dog!' Joffrey snapped. The boy did not understand Sandor's question.

Sandor knew his place, but could not bring himself to apologize. 'Then whose position am I claiming, Your Grace?' he said instead.

'I wanted you to be my new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, but Mother would have none of it,' the boy groused with a pout. 'Mother says Uncle Jaime deserves it because he has served as a member of the Kingsguard for so long.'

As king, the boy could have easily overridden his mother's order and done as he pleased. Sandor also knew that he would rather rot in the seven hells than serve as Lord Commander of Joffrey's Kingsguard. That kind of responsibility he could gladly do without.

It was not the only matter that weighed heavy on his mind. 'Lord Commander Selmy won't step down without a fight,' Sandor warned.

'That old fool is too old and weak to defend anybody anymore,' Joffrey scoffed.

Seven hells he is, the Hound thought in disgust. Sandor knew first hand that the elder knight was still well in his prime.

'Mother has already made arrangements for him to have a keep by the sea and servants under his care…' Joffrey prattled on, but the Hound heard not a word as he studied the armour in his hands.

Had it been anyone else he would not have cared; he had little use for knights and their hypocrisy. Ser Barristan, as reluctant as Sandor was to admit it, was not like any of the other knights he knew. Chivalry, honour and virtue, were more than just words to Barristan; they were his life. He hated the old man, as much as he respected him. Now Sandor was about to rob him of his livelihood, and watch as his masters, the Lannisters, stripped him of all dignity.

Suddenly, the golden armour no longer shone quite so bright; even the cloak looked ashen. A dog will die for you, but never lie to you. His grandfather used to always say.

So what does that make me? he wondered.

As Sandor departed for his chambers; the golden armour of the Kingsguard in his arms, he pretended not to hear his grandfather's sorrowful words whispering into his thoughts.

The worst liar of them all.

The words would haunt him for months to come.