'When you play the Game of Thrones,
You win.
Or you die.
There is no middle ground.'
In which the Princess of the Storm is spun into a whirlwind of chaotic events, all beginning with a single choice to choose Lord Eddard Stark as the new Hang to the...
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DAHLIA WAS QUIETER THAN A CAT WHEN SHE ESCAPED. When the cooks entered the courtyard, she swept away as the crowd dispersed into their seats. They all carried dishes sporting various types of meat, vegetables and blends of different kinds of cuisine. The courtyard burst into gentle cheers, everyone scurrying for their seats while Dahlia stood from her own, scurrying out of the courtyard unseen.
Determined to head back to her chambers, she felt a sense of deja vu from an hour ago where she was walking down the empty and dark halls before. The only light source being the moonlight invading the castle's openings. Unfortunately, she took a wrong turn and found herself stumbling around blind.
Dahlia was sure that she was lost now. Since she was nowhere near the courtyard, but somehow stumbling into the stables. The smell of wet straw, smoke, and the smell of animals wafted into her nose. Dahlia wandered around in the open courtyard-like stables, her shoes drifting over cobblestones, the moon her only source of light.
A loud snort and stamp caught her attention. Dahlia spun around, her eye's widening on seeing the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. He was a heavy courser, perhaps even larger than that of a destrier. A big handsome horse, a black stallion that stomped it's feet as Dahlia neared. He was in his own section, away from the other horses that remained silent. He stood proud, with his head up and his legs strong. Dahlia marvelled at the great horse, astonished by it's height.
Her hands rested on the wooden fence, separating the two. The horse grunted and snorted, moving back away from her, the skin around it's mouth peeling back into what resembled a snarl. Dahlia couldn't help but chuckle at the action, but was still weary of it. Still, she outstretched her hand, wanting to touch the warhorse, and for a strange reason, the horse began to move forward. Dahlia smiled like a child as the horses head came close, she could practically feel the soft hair already.
Suddenly, a hand curled around her wrist and yanked her away from the gigantic horse.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
Dahlia gasped as she lost her footing and stumbled backwards. Her feet lost their grip and she slipped on the cobblestones, she prepared herself to hit the ground, but the harsh feeling never came upon her. Opening her eyes, which she hadn't realised she had closed, a shaky Dahlia took an even shakier breath, for Sandor Clegane was holding her tightly.
Her eyes were wider than a full moon as she looked up to him. He held a torch in his free hand, holding it far away from him, the fire waving in the wind and casting a shadow over his face, shining in her eyes.
"Ser Clegane," she spoke breathlessly.
He snarled and let go of her wrist, "I already told you, I ain't no Ser," he replied with a snap. Dahlia grasped her wrist and rubbed the sore spot and looked to the horse as Sandor reached out and touched the black hair.
