Sandor

While many things could be said about him there was no a single person who could ever say that Sandor had led a boring life.

His brother was the Mountain Who Rides and the first legend about the bastard was how he had scarred Sandor purely because he was playing with one of Gregor's toys. Had it not been for his brother Sandor also would have been seen as the largest man in all of Westeros and that height and size had ensured that he gained attention wherever he went. The fact that he was, as shocking as it was to consider, the far more 'considerate' of the Cleganes meant that many people wanted to talk to him, even when he told them to fuck off, so he had managed to hold conversations with many powerful people within Westeros. Tywin Lannister had once even admitted that it would have been interesting if Sandor was the Lord of Clegane Keep, rather than his brother.

Sandor had walked the halls of the Red Keep. He had traveled with the Royal Family. He knew secrets about Casterly Rock that only a handful knew because they forgot that just because his name was The Hound didn't mean he was a dumb beast. And through Sansa he had experienced the return of magic, seeing her resurrection before she had used her powers to heal his maimed face.

But… the battle that was taking place before him? That was new even for him.

"What the fuck is that thing?" he demanded of the weirdly dressed little girl that had crashed through the Oyster. She had begun to get to her feet but Sandor had come upon her quickly, keeping her at sword point as he demanded answers. Across from them the strange tentacle man was making a great show of tearing apart the opulent whore house, ripping out chunks of the wall and hurling them about. But Sandor was focused on the first figure that had come bursting him… mostly because his first attempt at trying to fight the squidy bastard had resulted in him being tossed about like a child's doll. His ribs were still smarting from the blow the strange monster man had given him and Sansa had told him to stay back and allow her to give it a try.

People might have thought that insane, as she was a woman and he was a man, but he had seen Sansa tear men apart with her bare hands. He wasn't about to risk his own fucking hide by mocking her strength. So that left dealing with the other intruder, the one that had brought the threat to them.

There was no doubt who she was. A tiny little thing, more like a dolly that some pampered princess would carry around than a human, with barely any breasts and thin little arms that, despite him seeing some muscle on them, still would have been like twigs if he got his hands around them. She wasn't meek though, he could also see that. She was a squirming thing, lithe and limber, which would have made men all throughout the Seven Kingdoms gleefully offer up all the coin they had for a chance to be with her. She was wearing a garish outfit; white and black mixed with some very bold seafoam and deep pinks, tight to her body in a way that made a man's own pants tight. And despite the fact that she had been sent through a roof she was already getting up, shaking off the blow.

She was one of the fucking Spiders.

All of King's Landing had been talking about the fuckers. Debating if they were good or bad. Apparently they liked to swing about on webs and deal with pick pockets and catspaws and the like, snatching them up before they could harm the stupid and the weak. All sorts in King's Landing, especially in the poorer neighborhoods, were singing their praises and claiming that they had been sent by the Gods to rid the city of its corruption. Someone had even found a reference to spider bites being used to deal with injuries (and Sandor wondered what poor fucker had been the test subject for that demented little experiment) and claimed that as further proof that the Spiders were a blessing.

But others claimed that they were criminals themselves, eliminating the competition that had flowed into King's Landing after the disappearance of the Vulture King. They were thieves that stole from other thieves, killers who killed other killers… and then their victims. That if they truly were noble and good they would work with the goldcloaks… which only went to show how fucking stupid some people were, believing that any of the gold cloaks were noble and good and cared about the people of Westeros.

Sandor didn't give two flying fucks about any of them. All he wanted to know was what the fuck was going on.

"I said," Sandor growled, reaching for her only for the slippery thing to avoid his grasp, "what the fuck is that thing?!" He gestured to where Sansa was currently fighting the strange tentacle man, jabbing his sword at the unusual being before bringing it back towards her throat before she could even think of scurrying away. Sansa was darting about the room, not even trying to move just on her legs and instead leaping about on all fours like the direwolf that had once been her sigil. But the tentacle man wasn't letting her get too close, batting away her attempts to get to his human form with his wet slimy tentacles. And when he wasn't doing that he was snatching whatever he could and throwing it at her, forcing her to stay on the move. Already there were multiple holes in the walls, floor, and ceiling from the battle and Sandor dimly realized they'd have to find a new place to stay when all was said and done.

The whores that had been with them were, surprisingly enough, not running about like startled chickens and instead had begun to grab the decorative weapons that covered the walls of the Oyster, rushing forward to try and help out Sansa. It would be pointless, of course, but Sandor had to admit that fighting was better than panicking.

"Doc Ock," the Spider girl declared even as she looked about wildly for… well, Sandor wasn't for sure what she was trying to find. "He attacked J… Lord Jon's Court. I was trying to lead him away from people-"

"You did a fucking good job of that!" Sandor snarled, watching as one whore, Kyllie, leapt at Doc Ock, a knife clenched in her hands as she let out a shrill warrior cry that reminded him of eagles as they dive bombed on field mice. But Ock lazily batted her aside with one of his thick wet tentacles, sending her crashing into one of the canopy beds that filled the suite. The entire thing collapsed, reduced to a pile of kindling and fabric. Sandor let out a huff; she had been one of the good ones, able to fit him fully in her mouth without gagging. A fucking waste, that was what her death was. "I am going to gut you like a fish for bringing this fucking trouble-"

"By the Gods!" the Spider exclaimed and Sandor, for once, didn't blame her reaction on the weak nerves of a fragile woman. No… the whore Kyllie slowly stood up, a length of wood nearly 3 feet long and 2 inches thick jutting through her right breast and out of her back. But rather than scream the whore merely grabbing another one of the broken bed posts, testing its weight before she raced back to attack Doc Ock, the only issue with her injury being how her right arm refused to swing up and thus she was forced to switch her weapon to her left hand. She didn't even try and remove the wood. "What the fuck?!"

Sandor didn't have an answer. 'That shouldn't be fucking possible!' he thought to himself, his sword lowering a bit. 'I've seen men four times her size take arrows to the chest and go down, never getting the fuck back up. That cunt just had her tit reduced to jelly and her lung popped and she's running about like she only nicked her fucking finger!' He shook his head, half expecting that when he looked again the woman would either be on the ground screaming and clawing at the shaft of wood as she slowly bled out or there wouldn't be any cries at-

Blood.

Sandor blinked.

"Where is the fucking blood?" he wondered.

It was a universal truth. One that was drilled into every lad who ever had at any time held a sword, a dagger, or even a fucking butter knife: if it bleeds it can die. If it can die you can win. And if you didn't know how to use a blade you STILL fucking understood that. It was why the pompous little lordlings loved to have their first blood duels. Why bottom feeder trash always nicked a man they were trying to rob with their blade, just to show them they were serious. Why the best sellswords learned where to stab. Why warriors debated the best armor when it came to protection vs. mobility and comfort.

If it bleeds it can die. If it can die you can win.

What the FUCK did it say that the whore was running around with a shaft of wood through her teat and not letting a drop of blood fall onto the ground!?

Sansa let out a deranged laugh as she easily leapt over one of the tentacles, a dark leer on her lips. Her dress was half torn from her body, showing off the hard muscle underneath that always surprised Sandor whenever the two of them were together in bed. She didn't show any embarrassment over that, merely rolling her shoulders before taking a step forward, beckoning with a single black nailed finger for Doc Ock to come at her.

"You know… I have been wondering when one of you pathetic little wretches would decide to finally come after me. It's almost been boring how all of you just let me do whatever I wish. Make any claim, run about without any restraint… it was making this all so boring. Its like you want me and my Court to slaughter you all. That you have no idea what to do if we are not dominating you. To finally have someone step up and try and stop me? Mmmm." She ran her hands along her breasts, mauling them viciously. "Its intoxicating." She dodged another tentacle, her body bending back with almost the same flexibility as the Spider girl. "I know what my dear husband would say, of course. He would claim that fun isn't something one considers when balancing the universe."

She suddenly stomped down hard, driving the heel of her shoe into a tentacle and pinning it in place. Doc Ock moved to try and pull free only to find that he couldn't; Sansa had him firmly locked.

"But me personally?" she said with a dark smile, eyes practically GLOWING with power as she leaned down and began to cut into the tentacle with her fingers, tearing out chunks of spongy flesh. "I have found that nothing should be done if it doesn't bring you joy. And my joy… is killing each and everyone one of you pathetic little humans."

The whores began to move towards her and Sandor realized that it wasn't just the whore who had taken the wood bits to the nipple that was injured. One had her shoulder completely shattered so that her arm hung at a horrible and painful angle. Another had been struck by a wine pitcher and there was glass embedded in her face, though that did nothing to stop her leering smile. Two others had various gashes and cuts along their features, marring their pale white flesh.

And not a single one of them were hindered or affected by the wounds.

Not a single one… was bleeding.

"What the fuck?" the Spider girl said again and Sandor shook his head, agreeing with her assessment.

"This isn't right," he said, blinking his eyes. It was like when you were walking through a hall talking to a maester and you realized the maester was long dead, the hall was a single circle, and you could almost see your own body as it moved like you were outside of it. Only then, right before you opened your eyes, would you realize it was just a dream.

Suddenly so much that had happened over the last year… shifted. What he had accepted as fact, of the reality of the world, was revealed to be utterly strange and twisted and wrong. He looked at Sansa and the image as she had been, of the little bird that simpered after her 'beloved Joffrey' and looked at the world with stupid naïve eyes shattered, revealing that the woman before him wasn't her. Couldn't be her.

She was over 7 feet tall and built like a warrior. Gleaming white hair, so bright it hurt to look at it, cascaded down her back like a frozen waterfall. Her skin was pale as chilled milk and her veins were all blue, far more visible now that she was in the middle of a fight. Her lips were a bluish-black, as were her nails, and her eyes glowed with power. The way she moved… it wasn't like a human at all. And not like a beast either. There was an unnatural fluidity to her movements, like her bones were snapping apart at the joints to allow her to twist and turn in ways that simply SHOULDN'T be possible. And she was cold. He couldn't remember the last time he'd touched her skin and felt any warmth. No… he could remember. Before she had died. Joffrey making him yank her about, force her to go where he wanted, drag her to her father's botched execution. Then she had been warm. But now she was always cold. When she brushed her hand along his chest. When she stroked his hair. When he plunged into her.

Cold.

This wasn't the Little Bird. This wasn't Sansa. This… was something else.

"The Night's Queen," the Spider said in horror and Sandor dimly remembered Sansa… the woman before him, when she'd first awoken from her… death… declaring that he was 'the queen's knight' and she would be 'the Knight's Queen'. But suddenly he had a feeling that title wasn't about him at all.

He looked at the whores and saw that they too were different from how he remembered. One of the newest ones, a spritely yet scared girl of barely 14 who had come to them only a few weeks ago, needing coin desperately, had lost nearly all the color in her skin. In fact the only color on her that wasn't white or blue or black was from the exposed muscles in her back from where Doc Ock had grabbed her, suckers ripping off her skin. But that was wrong too… the layers underneath her skin should have been a deep red and bloody. Instead they were… gray.

Like old rot.

'Sansa is dead,' the Imp had snarled at the Small Council the first day he'd come to King's Landing as the Hand of the King. Everyone had told him he was wrong, that Sansa had come back to life.

He had been wrong when he had claimed she was some whore that Joffrey had dressed up as his betrothed. But… what if they were wrong as well?

What if Sansa… had never come back to life?

"Well, I'm afraid you are quite mistaken," Doc Ock said and suddenly the tentacle that had been trapped… just pulled away. It didn't rip. Didn't tear. Just pulled itself free, whole and full. And Sa… the Night's Queen hadn't been knocked off balance or anything like that. She just had stood there, one minute holding him down and the next finding him free, staring at him in surprise. "Quite arrogant of you to assume as much, my dear. You see… I'm not after you at all."

And then he suddenly lashed out with two tentacles, slamming whores away, crushing their bodies against the walls and floors. He saw one's jaw come flying off and another's ribcage shatter completely and still they stabbed and slashed at his tentacles. The limbs thought continued on past them and wrapped first around the Spider, causing her to struggle and attempt to fight back only for him to squeeze, the girl letting out a strangled cry before she went limp.

The second went around Sandor.

He let out a savage roar and tried to hack himself free but Ock merely squeezed and Sandor found it was his turn now to cry out in pain, fighting against the blinding agony of the compression. Doc dragged him towards him even as he once more moved to bat away the whores, the Night's Queen watching on, unmoving. Sandor had a brief glimpse of her staring at him with a gaze filled with… curiosity… and then he was forced to look Doc Ock right in the eye.

"I hadn't planned to snap you up so soon but this will work out rather well. I'm afraid I must make my way out of the city so its best not to have any loose ends."

And with that one of his tentacles raced past the Night's Queen and wrapped around a beam, the woman looking up almost comically before Doc Ock ripped the wood free and sent the entire ceiling crashing down on her. The last sight Sandor had of her was of the Night's Queen lifting her hands up even as the Blue Oyster collapsed, smashing the whores around her into a mushy pulp.

Sandor didn't even have time to figure out how he felt about that before he was yanked away, Ock making his way towards the Blackwater.

"Girl… Girl!" he snapped and the Spider began to groan. "Wake up girl!" He struggled but only one hand was free and he'd ended up dropping his sword at some point; he wasn't exactly for sure when it had happened but he was now unarmed. "Fuck hells wake up you cunt!"

But the Spider remained still, only letting out the occasional groan as Doc Ock moved out into the waters of the Blackwater. Up ahead Sandor saw a boat, upon which was perched a winged figure who stared at them the entire time.

'The Vulture King,' Sandor realized; even though he had never laid eyes on him before he knew that it could only be the Vulture King that he was staring at. There was no other being it could be.

Spreading his wings wide the Vulture King dropped down onto the deck as Doc Ock laid the Spider out onto the boat, considering her for a long moment. "Do you think we should unmask her? I must admit I am curious about her."

"No," the Vulture King said. Sandor took a moment to study the man. He was wearing mostly leathers with a few bits of armor stitched into the outfit but his helm was the most unusual thing. While vaguely bird-like it wasn't the full on beaked helm one might have assumed. Rather it was far more practical, even if it did cover his entire face and Sandor wasn't for sure how the bastard managed to see through it.

"Oh? I'm surprised. I thought for sure you would be interested in finding out exactly who she was. You know, after how she humiliated you and led to your defeat?" He lowered himself down to the dock, one tentacle still holding tight only Sandor, and reached out with a gloved hand towards the Spider's face, tugging on her mask to begin to expose the pinkish flesh underneath.

The Vulture King grabbed Doc Ock's wrist, forcing him to stop.

"Or is there another reason you want to protect her?" he asked. "A… connection? Some tragic tale of a father and their estranged daughter forced to fight against one another, loving each other despite being on opposite sides of a conflict."

"You are an overly dramatic fool," the Vulture King said coolly. "She is for our King, not you. Unless you wish to explain to him just why you decided to unmask her without him present."

"…very well," he said with a sigh, pulling away. But then he drew Sandor over to them, a smile forming on his flabby face. "But this one… this one will earn us our king's good graces."

"Perhaps," the Vulture King said. "If not for the fact that Kraven and Carnage are seeking to bring his true target to him."

"You believe that he cares for the carnal desires of the flesh?" Doc Ock said with a scoff. "No… our king is beyond such things. Revenge is a tastier dish."

"We shall see," the Vulture King said, turning his back on the tentacled man. "Get them in the holding cell with the other one. We need to get moving before anyone can give chase." He paused. "I will be leaving you with them soon… and I will report how they are to the King. If they are not as I describe you will pay."

"But of course," Doc Ock said and he dragged Sandor over to a hatch in the dock, another tentacle grabbing the girl as well. "Don't dwell too much on your accommodates… after all, with what our king has in store for you this will be a sweet comfort." He chuckled at that, throwing open the hatch and tossing Sandor and the girl inside.

The fall was far longer than he had been expecting and Sandor gasped as he hit the wooden floor, rearing up in pain. It look several moments for his vision to clear of the starbursts that suddenly exploded in front of his eyes, the pain was so blinding. When it did though he saw he was in the bowels of the great sailing ship. The 'cell' was actually just the cargo hold and, from the scent of it, had either been used to transport fish or cunts. He was guessing the former was more likely. The hatch closed even as he stood up but it didn't matter because even if he had gotten a running start he would have had no hope of touching it, let alone opening it.

'We must be below the water line,' he thought as he began to inspect the area. 'If we try and break our way out we'll fucking drown. Damn it!'

"So… I see our hosts have decided to give me a bit of company."

Sandor turned… and stared in confusion at the figure that was sitting in the corner. He was a heavy set man with squinting eyes, dressed rather fairly and richly.

He was also the spitting image of Doc Ock.

"Who the fuck are you?" Sandor asked.

"Lord Otto Octavius," the double of the tentacle man stated. "Master of Coin for King Tommen. And you… resembled Sandor Clegane. Or at least half of him." Sandor cursed as he touched his face; the magically imposed scars were gone, leaving his face healed. "I imagine you have quite a tale… and we have plenty of time."

"Why the fuck do you look like Doc Ock?"

"I don't," Lord Otto said. "He looks like me. Or rather he chooses to disguise himself as me. I would be rather impressed… if he weren't using my face to commit is wanton destruction."

"Come now, my Lord!" Doc Ock called down to them though the hatch remained closed. "I thought you would be flattered. I dare say my impression of you was quite good."

"Quintin," Lord Otto said, looking up at the still closed hatch. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because it is the role of a lifetime," Doc Ock replied. "And it isn't Quintin… not anymore. Nor should you call me Doc Ock. That is the title reserved for your face."

The hatch opened once more and Sandor frowned as he stared at the sight before him. Doc Ock wasn't there and instead he saw a man in green scaled leathers with a deep purple cloak around his shoulders, his head completely covered by an opaque orb.

"I… am Mysterio."