Sandor

What a buggering day it has been. On the morning, Joffrey had made sure to recall everyone present at court that he was the little piece of shit they all knew he was but that all feigned to ignore - and Sandor was well aware that he was no exception to the rule. He was no better than any of them but at least he was honest about it. Well, if that thought can make you feel better about your bloody self, dog, take it.

The boy-king had held court today and had proved once again how cruel he could be to the smallfolk. It was a harsh time for them; the war that was raging in the Stormlands had lasted for more than three moons by now and had had a lot of consequences over the well being of the inhabitants of King's Landing. The doors of the city had been closed since the beginning of the conflict and the supplies of food came through the city walls very sparingly. The King and the noblemen didn't lack of any food though. They even ate bloody too well - Sandor had thought, looking at the puffy faces and bulging bellies of the men surrounding him and Joffrey - but as always, the weak were the ones to pay for the faults of the strong. That was nothing new to him: the world was an awful place after all but it seemed to Sandor that each day that went by, Joffrey found a new way to make it even worse.

The war had started after Jon Arryn, late hand of the King, had refused to bend the knee to the young new king after the suspicious death of his father, King Robert. Arryn's reason for his rebellion had shocked everyone present to hear it: he pretendedthat Joffrey and his siblings were all the products of an incestuous relationship between Queen Cersei and her brother, Jaime Lannister. Sandor couldn't help but snort at the memory of that scene. He had known Joffrey was no true Barratheon for quite a while now and he had been bloody surprised to realise that he apparently had been the only one to notice the fucking obvious. Those noblemen's heads are as empty as the wineskins I have left in my chamber but at least my wineskins once had a purpose, unlike those useless fuckers.

After Arryn's declaration, the man had been condemned to death, bringing fury all over the Seven Kingdoms where the old fool had been well liked by a lot of people. Yet, the defeated Hand was apparently not the only fool in Westeros as the late King Robert's two younger brothers were seemingly eager to prove everyone. Both of them had decided that since their Kingly nephew was not their nephew after all, they might as well try to steal him his pretty crown. What kind of men would fight over a piece of jewellery? Sandor had never understood that hunger for power and recognition some men had. As for himself, if he could fight, kill, drink and fuck, he would never dare complain.

The two Baratheons brothers had fought in the Stormlands for a while before Renly, the younger of them - and also, the better dressed, Sandor mused with contempt - had died in mysterious circumstances very recently. Stannis, who was now on his way north, would soon be ready to attack King's Landing and attempt to take the boy-King off his ugly and sure as hells, uncomfortable Iron chair.

Meanwhile, in the capital, the smallfolk were dying of hunger as fast as flies caught in a sudden winter storm and a lot of them were coming to the Red Keep everyday to ask for food to their king while he was holding court. Sandor was not a merciful man and he usually did not take pity on anyone but the cruelty Joffrey had shown of late toward the unfortunate fools that had the nonsense to come and beg him for help was simply unnecessary…

A new height had been reached today. A man had presented himself this morning, crying like a fucking child while telling the King of how his children and wife were getting skinnier everyday. Joffrey's solution to that had been to kill the man and ask for his body to be brought to his family so that they could break their fast on his remains. Sandor has felt his stomach turn: that sounded like something Gregor would do! The boy-King had a habit of resolving the commoners' problems by killing them and Sandor was well used to it but that was just too much. Another line had been crossed today and it made him feel sick. At least, he had the evening and night off and so he could attempt to drown himself in wine and find himself a fuck with a nice and willing silver-stag-worth whore. He fucking needed those things right now.

The Gold cloak guards that were posted at the entrance of the Red Keep unlocked the massive wooden doors and let the heavy structures swing open without any question asked as soon as they saw the Hound astride his great black war stallion approaching. Sandor knew that most people preferred to avoid contact with him in fear of the infamous reputation that preceded him everywhere he went. He didn't mind it really. Those men were only cowards if they didn't dare to confront him and preferred to hide safely at the top of their wall like little girls in their mother's skirts. Sandor hated wasting his words on cravens and so he might have thanked them for not talking to him if they had been anything more than mockeries of men.

It was a beautiful day and the sun was still high in the sky. Still a few hours before supper time but that won't stop me from getting fucking drunk as soon as I can. Sandor couldn't wait for the blessed moment when he would finally feel that strong wine he liked so well, black as blood, run down his throat, its warmth burning him from the inside as liquid fire much better than any real flame he'd ever seen. It wouldn't be very long; the tavern where he usually went to drink and whore at was at the outskirts of Flea Bottom. That area of the city was not fit for a bloody member of the prestigiousKing's guard as he laughably was but he didn't give a shit about what was fitting or not. The company of the dirt stained commoners and drunken sellswords suited him much more than the one of all those pompous knights and useless noblemen he was usually surrounded with at court.

Sandor sighed in relief when he finally got to the tavern. Jumping off the back of his horse, he gave the reins to the ugly boy that took care of inn's stables.

"Here boy. Careful with that horse: he'll bite half of that face of yours if you're stupid enough to get too close."

Sandor had taken a liking in scaring the lad when he came here. it was not like if it was hard anyway. The boy was looking at his feet, shacking as he nodded and went carefully away with the horse.

As he was about to finally open the door of the tavern, Sandor heard a woman's scream coming from a street nearby. He was far from the knight-in-shinning-armour kind of man - he even hated those bastards really - but still, the feminine voice that was pleading for help seemed so desperate and confused that he could not help but go and find out what was happening.

A whore probably, with an insistent customer. The sort that wants the goods but can't spare a bloody cupper. The screams continued as Sandor made his way to the dead end from where they were coming. The place was a well known working area where the cheapest whores of the city did their thing, the ones that couldn't even convince a man to pay a couple of cuppers for an hour at a dirty room. Why would I go help one of those old toothless whores, what do I bloody care? She can go to the seven hells after having been raped by every fucking men that this damn city has to offer, for as long as I'm concerned. But still, Sandor didn't stop. The voice seemed young, and even if deformed by fear, it sounded sweet and soft.

Sandor was now close enough to have a good view over the whole scene without being spotted by anyone. From where he was, he could see the back of a man standing in front of a young woman and slowly approaching her. His victim was backing away from him but had now reached a wall with her back and her eyes were big and scared. She was a pretty thing all right: tall with thick auburn hair that shined like cupper under the sun and her skin was as white as any high lady would dream hers to be even though the girl was obviously a commoner judging by the way she was dressed in a simple brown roughspun dress. She was no whore though and that was a given. The modesty of the clothes she wore would have pleased a septa.

"Please ser! Leave me alone! I'm scared and only want to go home… If it pleases you of course." The girl bowed a little, lowering her pretty blue eyes filled with tear.

"Shut up, girl! I'll repeat it to you one last time: you give me no fight and I promise you you'll keep those pretty white teeth of yours, but you continue to resist me like you do and you can be sure that your parents won't recognise you tonight when you'll come home to them. That is if you ever do, of course. Understand?"

The girl was shaking like a leaf. "What do you want from me, ser? Please, I don't want to displease you but I'm so scared! Don't hurt me! Please, ser!" she managed to say in-between hardly controlled sobs.

Sandor was astounded. That girl was being attacked by some obliviously third-rate, poxy sellsword but she was giving him 'sers' and was polite as any lady would be to a high Lord. She's chirping at him like a defenceless little bird. A little bird that don't realise it's not being attacked by a fucking cat but by a dirty rat coming straight from the city's sewers! That bastard must be having the time of his life right now, being called 'ser' with so much reverence by such a pretty and innocent little thing.

The ugly bugger violently ripped open the bodice of the little bird's dress and even from where he was still hiding, Sandor could see her pretty little milky teats bounce as the cloth was torn apart by the hairy hands of her attacker. That's when Sandor decided he could not take it anymore and ran to them as fast as he could. The man didn't have time to see him coming from behind him; he was too bloody busy leering at the girl's round breasts and was taken by total surprise when Sandor thrust his well sharpened dagger through the side of his neck. The man let out a scream but he was dead already as Sandor moved the blade to cut more tendons and veins. The blood splashed out like a fucking fountain and the girl cried in a high pitched voice before quickly passing out. Oh well, that sure as fuck was not a pretty sight to look a, but at least it's not her own blood she had to witness flowing out of her body like some deadly dark river…

Sandor paused to take a good look at her. She's younger than I thought from afar. Five and ten or six and ten at the most… The girl had some of her attacker's blood splattered on her dress but it really wasn't that bad; the worst was the way her bodice was ripped open from its once modest cleavage down to where her flat belly was, leaving nothing to the imagination on its way. Sandor was frozen in place for an instant as he admired her beauty. She was so amazingly delicious-looking, laying there on the ground like some buggering offering from some unusually generous gods: a half naked goddess herself waiting for him to take her entirety... At the thought, Sandor felt his breeches get uncomfortably tight and he was instantly disgusted at himself for it. He couldn't save a girl and then, do exactly as the fucking bastard he had just killed moments before had intended to. She didn't deserve it, she seemed far too innocent and pure… And anyway, Sandor had never had any liking for unwilling women in his bed and had thus always preferred paid whores. He was not very found of rape in general, especially with women that had not even gone looking for it.

He had never saved a girl like that before, with no reason at all, but there was a first time for everything.Fuck, dog! You're lying to yourself here. You know you want nothing more than to fuck this girl and hope she'll be so thankful that you've killed her almost-rapist that she'll jump in your arms and let you rape her yourself.

Sandor felt the burned corner of his mouth twitch and took a few deep breaths of air to try to calm himself down. The little bird needed to be taken someplace where she could rest for a while and drink some fresh water. The tavern next door where he had planned to go spend the evening was as good a place as any other for that purpose, he thought. It was no fitting institution for a young girl like her but he had no other idea and didn't really care anyway. She needed something to cover herself though. Sandor took off his white King's guard's cloak from his shoulder and wrapped it around her before taking her in his arms.

The girl was as light as feather and he could now smell the sweet perfume that oozed from her skin while feeling her hair, soft as silk, caressing his arm. As Sandor walked to the Tavern, she made a soft moan and started to shift very faintly. She looked as if she was going to come round.

"Shhh Little bird, you're safe now," the man rasped as softly as he could. He felt her delicate body relax against his torso and arms and she seemingly felled asleep again.

Kicking open the door of the Tavern, Sandor saw in a quick glance that the common room was empty apart from the staff of the place. He walked to a bench, the staff watching him in astonishment as he laid the girl down over it as gently as he could. Then, he turned around and asked the serving wenches for some water, a wineskin and a few pieces of cloth to sponge the girl's face.

A woman came back fast enough to his taste with a bowl of fresh water, a few towels and the precious and much anticipated wine, same as Sandor had asked, and he told her to put it all on a table next to him. "Good. You can leave now, woman. I'll take care of the girl myself," he said, not even sparing a glance her way.

"I know her. She's Ned the smith's daughter. What happened to her?"

The wench seemed genuinely concerned and so Sandor answered back. "She's been attacked by some dirty bastard but I came just in time and took care of the little piece of shit of a man he was," he said in a low voice, his lips curling in a cruel and satisfied grin.

Sandor dipped a piece of cloth in the bowl of water, soaking it before wringing it so that it would not drip too much, and then brushed it as delicately as he could on the little bird's forehead. She moaned, her full lips parting in the most titillating manner, and started to stretch herself on the bench, her body moving in a way that attracted attention to her luscious curves and Sandor felt himself grow slightly hard again. Damned, you dog…

Her eyes opening slowly, the little bird looked lost for the few seconds that it took for them to be able to focus correctly. When she finally regained full conscience, she raised her gaze to Sandor but as soon as it fell on him, she jumped and gasped and the man watched as her now rounded eyes filled with fear.

This is great…was all he could think right then.