Game of Thrones: Imagines and one shots. Book four

Want - Part 6 - Sandor x Bronn x Reader

"Put that fuckin thing away, ya big bloody girl. Fight like a fuckin man........" Sandor growled as Bronn, from his prone position on the floor, drew his dagger and pointed it at the bigger man.

Sandor had indeed left the training area, after the little man had taken (Y/n) to see a maestre. The Hound winding his way through the Keep, making enquiries, listening to loose tongues who just loved to share the latest scandals of the nobility, with anyone, even him. The tales he heard regarding what Bronn had said about a certain lady, quickly making the big man's blood boil. Which meant that when he did finally track down the sellsword, Bronn found himself thrown clear halfway across the room. Then picked up by his neck and pinned to a wall, before he could act. Bronn always priding himself on his speed, his prowess in battle; yet at that moment, he had found himself hanging like a child's doll, being half strangled by a man that looked like he wanted nothing more then to rip him in two. The sellsword taking any breath he could, before kicking Sandor in the guts; the movement indeed forcing the bigger man to release him, but it had not stopped the Lannister's dog. Sandor quickly recovering and grabbing him once against as Bronn had attempted to get to his feet. A large fist connecting firmly with his face, sending him straight back to the floor; the sellsword having had his nose broken enough to know that it was broken again. The blood from the injury, making its way down into his mouth.

"What the fuck..........?" Bronn questioned. The dagger still gripped firmly in his hand.

"A cunt like you, dare talk about a lady like that. That woman is tha one thing in this whole fuckin city, worth a shit........." Sandor growled back, as he stalked over to Bronn. The sellsword quickly jumping to his feet, one hand wiping away the blood, while the other kept the blade pointed at the Hound.

Bronn had had some time to think about the interaction between himself and the ward of the old lion. He was not one to normally give a shit about what he said, not giving a damn about if his words hurt anyone or not. And more, he was not one to feel guilty for anything he did. You couldn't kill people for a living and then feel guilty about it after. But, for the first time in his entire life, he had come to realise, as Tyrion sat across from him and barely looked at him; as one day stretched into another and then another without seeing (Y/n)'s face, that he did feel guilty; that he was sorry for everything that he had said to her. The notion made worse by the fact that her absence seemed to have made his world a little darker. That something was gnawing away at the pit of his stomach. And just to add to all of that, he had come to understand why he had done it; why he had dragged the lady away, why he had demanded to know who the man was, why he had told her that it was his business......he was jealous. The thought hitting him just as hard as Sandor had. He had said all those terrible things about (Y/n) because he wanted to be the only man to make her smile. The only man that could carefully brush the hair back behind her ear and make her blush. It had, he had to confess, been as much of a shock to him, as it might be anyone else that knew him. He was not a one woman man; he went where he wanted, did what he did and fucked who he wanted, without a second thought. But then he had found himself in Kings Landing, looking at quite possibly the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. This woman though not just looks......she was smart, funny, sarcastic, as quick as a whip and fierce. As bright and as dangerous as dragonfire; and fuck did he want her. He wanted all of her, just her; and he wanted her to have him too. Though how he was to explain that to her, to get her to understand, when he couldn't understand it all himself.......that was the thing. And now, now he had the Hound wanting to beat him to a bloody pulp for what he had said. Bronn not knowing why the big man cared so much for (Y/n) that he would come and attack him; but whatever the reason, the same feeling of jealousy was rearing its ugly head again. The sellsword readying himself to strike; to tell the Lannister's lacky, that he was to go nowhere near (Y/n).

"Ya want ta fight.......come and get me ya bastard......." Bronn shouted back. Throwing the dagger to one side, before gesturing for Sandor to come for him.

"ENOUGH!" Both men stopping, turning to see Tyrion stood in the door. The little man staring that them with his arms crossed firmly across his chest.

"There is no need for this incident to get worse and spread anything further around the Keep than it already has. I assure that (Y/n) will not appreciate it......"

"The maestre........?" Sandor asked, as Tyrion made his way onto the room.

"Ah yes.........the maestre has informed me that (Y/n) will be quite well; but will not be able to fight for a while. A note that did not go down well with her......."

"Maestre........what she need ta see a maestre for.......?"

"What tha fuck do you care...........?" Sandor countered, as the sellsword looked between him and Tyrion. The little lord shaking his head, as the two men squared up. It quite clear that both of them cared for (Y/n) in their own ways; but were going about dealing with things in completely the wrong manner. And as much as he believed that outwardly, his oldest friend would be happy about Sandor taking care of Bronn for her; he suspected that deep down, the opposite might actually be the case. And despite what she might say, how she might protest, she wouldn't want anything to happen to sellsword.

"Stop. For the love of.....(Y/n) is fine. She claims to have had worse cuts from the edges of paper. Though given that she has been forcing herself to train from dawn to dusk over the last few days, she is currently resting in her rooms. But if you two must insist on continuing this 'who cares more about (Y/n)' spectacle; then you can do it out of my room.........." Tyrion added, before pointing to the door. Sandor just huffing before walking past him with Bronn quickly following behind. The two men standing in the corridor, merely looking back at the little man. Tyrion giving one last shake of his head, before slamming the door on both of them.