[Author's note: Hey guys, so I decided to write this fic because people asked for it. I included some original characters. The chicken will appear in the second chapter. Also, keep in mind that English isn't my native language. And most importantly, review the fuck outta this story. You can leave a review at the bottom of this page. The more reviews, the better season 8 will be. It is known.]
"50 Gold Dragons for your finest chickens." A familiar voice bellowed from the Crossroads Inn doorway. The sound of the doors flinging open was enough for the crowded Inn to be filled with abrupt silence. The silhouette of the newly arrived visitor standing at the doorway was impressively large and the bright sunshine coming from outside made it hard for the people inside the Inn to recognize any distinct features.
"Father, is that a knight?" a young swarthy boy whispered in awe to his father who was sharing honey cakes with his two sons. "Be quiet, Zhiklal," the old Ghiscari man answered in a hushed voice, eyes glued to the doorway. Finally, the silhouette moved and the silence of the room was replaced by the heavy sound of large, muddy boots making their way inside. As the stranger stepped out of the fierce light his features were revealed. It was a large man with long, shaggy hair in bulky and bloodied armor. But his bloodied armor wasn't his most notable feature. It was his gruesome burn scars on his face that got the people's attention. "Father, is that a monster?" the second son whispered frighteningly to his father. Izmahl na Amdazn averted his gaze from the large man and looked at his sons. That's not a knight nor a monster. That's a hound.
"Go upstairs, girls." Nera Taller, the owner of the Inn urged to her three young daughters. Sometimes the Inn visitors would tease her about her name because the woman was actually of very short stature. But what she lacked in height she more than made up for in personality. She violently grabbed her emergency axe from the bar and swung it in Clegane's direction. "We don't feed stray dogs, out with you."
Once again the room filled with silence and the only thing Nera could hear was the sound of her own heart beating rapidly. The Hound roared with laughter. "You're a feisty tavern wench, aren't you? Is that how you treat a paying customer?" the bearded man replied as he tossed his small but heavy bag of coins on the bar counter. "We could do this two ways. Either you fetch me some chickens to eat and some ale to drink or I will take that axe of yours and bury it so deep into your skull your little girls have to bury you with it. After that, I will fuck them bloody and take all the chickens, ale and coins I can carry." Nera stood there, frozen, then defeatedly put down her axe. "That's a good girl." Clegane chuckled. "W- we don't have many chickens left." the short woman stammered. "How about some salted pork instead? My youngest made s-" "I don't care what your youngest made." The Hound snapped. "I heard you served chicken so I will eat chicken. Give me all the chickens you've got left." The woman gave a tight lipped smile, nodded and scurried to the kitchen.
Clegane's eyes scanned the room, looking for an empty seat when he spotted the only empty seat in the room. It was at a table meant for four people, yet the table was only used by three people. An old man and two younger boys with the same dark complexion. Must be a family. Six eyes looked back at him as he approached the table.
"Is this seat taken?" Sandor sat down before the family could answer. The small basket of honey cakes on the centre of the table made his stomach growl. The old man sitting opposite of him moved his head, now looking straight in the Hound's eyes. "I-.." The old man rasped before audibly clearing his throat. "I did not invite you to sit." His dark brown eyes boring into Clegane's. "Who's going to stop me, old man? I am twice your height and half your age. Or are your brave little boys going to fight me?" The Hound turned his head sideways, giving the young boy on his left with the honey cake crumbed face a suggestive look. "Are you going to fight me, boy? The little boy shook his head vehemently, crumbs falling off his little tanned face. The old man rose from his wooden chair. "I will not have a Clegane threaten my son!" His frail but sturdy hand hit the basket in front of him, which resulted in honey cakes flying everywhere. The basket flew off the table meeting the dirty ground. The sudden physical activity took its toll on the old man. He collapsed back into his chair, his feeble bones don't hold him like they used to. The man closed his eyes as he exhaled shakily, pain written over his old face.
"Boys, go outside and play."