Game Of Thrones OneShots

*Sandor Clegane (The Hound) x Reader

(As Sansa's sister, you both have to face the wrath of Joffrey at his loss to your brother Robb. Taking the brutal beating, you're surprised when someone intervenes and saves you. Warnings = beatings, minor language, slight smut)

Word Count: 2275

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The obnoxious laughter of bloody King Joffrey filtered through your ears as you knelt on the cold hard tiles of the Throne Room. Your head was bowed, and to the left of you sat your sister, Sansa who, bless her heart, was crying like usual. But where Sansa was afraid and upset, you were fuming. The little rat bastard had previously decided to blame the two of you for your father's supposed treason, which let's be honest was absolute bullshit. There was no way your father- the great Eddard Stark would ever try and betray the crown, no matter how ghastly the ruler may be. And now he had called you both forward to blame you for your brothers reply- or lack there of- to his letter, as well as the loss of a battle against him. So instead of doing what you (probably) should have done- which was to bow your head and beg for forgiveness- you outright glared daggers at the little blonde boy standing in front of the mighty iron throne, holding his crossbow aimed straight at your forehead.

Sansa spoke up next to you-
"Your grace, whatever our traitor brother has done we had no part, you know that, I beg you please-"
Joffrey cut her off calling a man forward. He spoke but you didn't really listen, you didn't really care what the man had to say- you knew it was a bunch of lies, something about the Northmen slaughtering thousands and then eating the bodies- your brother Robb would never do such a thing, but apparently the  Court believes he would, and gasps echoed high up into the rafters.

Joffrey began to speak again but the words weren't really filtering through your brain, so instead you sat and wondered what it would be like to squeeze the little bastards throat and watch his eyes bulge like a frogs. The monster had killed your father, going back on his word in the process, kept you both prisoner in the keep, and now wanted to kill your brother, and you were supposed to bow your head and ask for his mercy? Absolutely not.

In the time you'd been thinking, Joffrey  decided against the crossbow idea, and you watched as the ornately carved weapon changed its aim from between your eyes to the cold stone floor.

"Stand." He said, and you both stumbled upwards onto your feet, Sansa because she was scared witless and you because your legs had been numbed from kneeling too long. "So-" he continued, "We'll have to send your brother a message some other way."

You both froze, quite aware what he was referring to.
"Meryn, teach the older one a lesson- if My Lady would stop telling me lies, she wouldn't have to watch her sister get hurt." the man in question started moving towards you, armour clanking as his feet hit the stone floor. You gulped and raised your chin higher in an attempt to look brave.
"Leave her face, I like her pretty." Your eyes turned molten in their sockets in fury, but in the back of your mind you were somewhat thankful you wouldn't be walking round with a blown up face for months.

The hound had by this point turned his gaze on you, and watched as you took the first hit to the stomach, a sharp pain now turning into a dull ache that radiates up your sides and down your legs, the air in your lungs long gone. You heard the hiss of the sword emerging from its sheath and had no time to think before the face of the blade had whipped the back of your legs, and you knew there'd be bruising for weeks. Your knees hit the tiled floor, and you could hear Sansa gasping and begging, her words starting to blur together as her emotions took over.

"Meryn the lady is overdressed, unburden her." From your place on the floor you were unaware of where the knight was, so when the back of your dress was harshly ripped open, the seams and threads popping and pulling, a cold wind encircling your back and rib cage, you let out a gasp before violently clutching the front of the dress to save yourself from further embarrassment. You briefly saw The Hound turn his head away, whether it was out of respect from your state of half dress or something else you weren't sure.