Chapter 1
The cold water hit his face like a fist and sent a shock through his whole body. Gods, why did he do this to himself again? It would be so much easier just to open his wrists and bleed out. Yet, he never did. No, instead he kept breathing, kept moving and kept trying to numb the pain with copious amounts of wine. How had it come to this? How could he have possibly sunk this low? He had achieved everything he had ever attained to; had slain his brother, spent the night in the arms of his Little Bird, and even became a bloody war hero; yet, instead of the happiness he had always thought these things would give him, he was more miserable now than he had ever been.
Leaning over the basin in his room, both hands on the vanity, he looked into the cracked mirror and stared at the man before him. He did not even recognize him anymore, who was he? Before, he had hated his reflection, hated seeing his half-burned face with it's twisted flesh even in a puddle; yet he had always known who he was: Joffery's Dog, the Hound, a killer. It was a shit of an identity, but at least it was something he realized. Now, the man before him was as foreign as the stranger he had punched in the mouth the night before. Poor bastard, he had not even done anything except offer to buy him a drink and shake the hand of the great war hero, Sandor Clegane. He never asked to be a bloody hero and he sure as hell didn't want it.
Hypocrites, all of them.
Before the War of the Long Night and the War for King's Landing, not one of them cared for him; or about him. They called him dog, whispered about him in dark corridors, shied away from his face and considered him a brute and savage. Now those same cunts revered him, wanted to shake his hand, buy him drinks, sit next to him in the taverns and brothels. The same women who refused to look upon him, now whispered unsavory offers in his good ear when no one was looking; and not just scullery maids or servants, even the noble ladies of the court. All wanting a tousle with the fearsome Hound, the great hero, the Queen's prized dog. In the last year, three different lords had offered him their daughters' hands in marriage; THREE. Aye they had all been minor houses, but nonetheless, before, no one offered anything or anyone to him. He was only the second son of a minor house, not even a knight; no lord had wanted him for a son then. Now, he was all the talk of King's Landing, and it made him want to put his sword right through every buggering asshole's head that he saw. The worst part was the whores. They used to charge him three times above the going rate because of his face, but now they offered themselves up freely to him; all wanting to be fucked by the Hound, to tell the tale. Between that and his broken heart over the Little Bird, it had made it impossible for him to even fuck a woman at this point. He had tried again last night, drunk as a dog, barely could unlace his breeches; but as he stood there, hovering over the whore, it lost its savor and instead he left. In truth, he had not been with a woman in over a year; not since the night he had been with his Little Bird.
A knock at the door snapped him back to the reality of the room he was standing in. "What the fuck do you want?" he growled.
"Lord Clegane," a voice rang through the wood, "The Queen has requested your presence at the ceremony today. It will begin momentarily."
"I fucking know what today is, I don't bloody well need to be reminded. Now get the fuck away from my door before I break it down with you still on the other side."
No more words came from the other side of the door, and Sandor splashed more water over his face and under his armpits before reaching for his tunic.
When the fuck did I even bath last? Doesn't matter, if anything it will do me a favor by keeping all those fucking cunts in the court from standing near me.
He grinned. The thought of himself being so disgustingly offensive to every lord and lady around brought him more joy than the whore he had attempted to fuck the night before.
He did not even bother to dry himself before pulling his black tunic over his head.
Who cares, no matter how gruesome and repulsive I am, they still seem to love me. Cunts. No matter what I do not one of them will revile me. Rat cunts, all of them. I hate them all.
He opened the door and started down the corridor.
Fuck dog, you're still drunk.
He reached his large hand out to balance himself against the wall and began to laugh loudly. A member of the Queensguard passing him turned to look at the insane Hound laughing wildly at nothing.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" the Hound barked.
With that the man hurried by and never looked back.
Wine. If I am going to make it through this fucking ceremony, I am going to need wine. Lots and lots of wine.
And with that thought he began staggering towards the kitchens.