Game of Thrones One Shots

Wait: Sandor Clegane x Stark!Reader

Warnings: violence, Red Wedding

Request: Prompt 94 ("I won't lose you too.") with sandor x stark!reader?? Love your blog. Your writing is awesome 
PS: I have a prompt list on Tumblr, so that's why there are numbers in the Request. Besides that, this is a normal requested fic. 

You had been so close. They had been so close. If you had just been able to get to them on time. Only a few minutes earlier. If only that stupid horse had been faster.
The banners of your house were burning. Frey men were soiling them with blood and dirt and mud. They were your banners now, you realised. You were the oldest Stark left in this world. Little Arya was just that. Little. And darling Sansa was still in the clutches of the boy king. Soon, she would be his, or some other Lord's wife. She would no longer be a Stark.
In a single night, you had been orphaned and now you were supposed to lead your house. You watched from the sides as your bannermen's throats were slit, as dark crimson pooled out of their skin and as their stares turned into stone.

You were a Stark. Would a Stark sit behind a pile of rubble and watch as their people get slaughtered? You were such a coward, a traitor to your name. Another direwolf burned. That grey symbol of hour house was erased from the white fabric of a linen banner. Enough was enough. You were a Stark of Winterfell and if you were going to die some way, it should be alongside your people, next to the corpses of them.

A roar rippled though your body as you rose to your feet. You ran towards anything that moved. Your feet treaded on blood-soaked ground that slowly drenched your clothes. You didn't know what had come over you, but you just kept charging forward. Sandor had given you a small blade to protect yourself and you didn't really know how to use it, but what did it matter now? A knife was a knife, a sword was a sword and a blade was a blade.
The first man had not seen what was going to hit him. You ran at him, feet faster than lighting and blade angled so that it would cut his neck open.
Then someone brought his arm around your middle and held you back. It was an iron tight grip. There was nothing to be done.
"Kill me so that I may lie with my brother and mother." You held your neck high so that your attacker had a good and clean cut. There was nothing worse than dying painfully. At least this way it would be quick.

But he simply pulled you into him, draping his cloak around the two of you and almost carried you in a different direction. That smell. You knew this person. Sandor.
"Let me go", you roared at him. You tried to make him let go of you, tried to escape his arms but he would not let you. "Let go!"
He said nothing. No insults and no snarky remarks. Simply one foot after the other. It was horrible. You needed the real Sandor right now. If only to keep your tears from flowing. If only to make you angry at him and forget the slaughter of your family. Outside, he took hold of a horse and rode through the camp with you still in his tight grip. If he let go, you promised yourself, you would return and murder every single Frey there was on sight. Nothing and nobody would be able to stop you.

You didn't know how many days it had been, not how far you had gone with your horse, but Sandor let go of you.
He wanted to make camp. He let go and ran off to find some food. This was your chance. If only you were a real direwolf, you could immediately sniff out where the next Frey was. Instead, you ran off into the direction of where you had come from. You would follow the horse's tracks. They would lead you right back to the Twins. Walder Frey you were going to kill last. You would kill all his family, burn the Twin Towers to the Ground and make him watch, make him feel what you had felt.

As soon as you couldn't hear Sandor's heavy footstep upon the ground anymore, you ran for it. You ran and ran until your lungs turned sour. Forwards, just forwards.
"What the hell are you doing!" Impossible. You had made sure. You had been sure that he would not be able to catch up!
He repeated his question. "What the hell are you doing!"
You turned around to face him, your eyes like fire, but your cheeks wet from all the crying and your tear ducts threatening to release more.
"I am all alone", you almost shouted, "and I need to avenge them. I need to-"
"You're alone", he said and it didn't sound like a well meant question. "You have your sisters, you have that bastard at the wall."
"They're all a thousand miles away. Maybe they're with the rest of my family now."
"You're not alone", he said in a mocking tone. "And charging at soldiers with a butter knife and as much skill in battle as a cockroach is not going to do anything but kill yourself." How dare he. He did not know what it felt like to see your house lay drenched in blood, to see a crowd cheering for your father's head, to hear your sister scream for mercy, to see your brother's headless body be defiled. He did not know.
"What do you care", you shouted.
"I lost my entire family. My mother, father and sister. Gregor tried to kill me." His face turned an angry red and you could see a vein on the side of his face pulsating. "You're all I have, and I won't lose you, too." He stomped on the ground like an angry little child and turned away from you, storming off back to the camp side.

Right there and then, you felt something shift within you. He was right. You were not alone, and you had been a fool not to see it. You had him. Through all the bad times, he had been there to protect you, to hold you and to care for you. Sandor had always been there from you. He was right about your fighting, too.
"Wait", you screamed at the top of your lungs, afraid that he was already out of ear-shot. "Wait!" You ran after him, tripping over roots and branches. Wait. He had to wait.
"You will not lose me", you said when you reached him. "I promise".
He barely nodded and then took your hand in his.

A/N: Just a heads up! I've got so many requests currently and I will write them all. BUT the order in which I write them depends on my mood and how much I feel like writing something. So, keep on requesting until articles 13 and 11 rip my writing from my cold dead body. 

So, turns out being sick actually keeps you from thinking so I couldn't write at all these past few days.