#boros blunt

“What is the meaning of this?” The Imp’s voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly Sansa was free. She stumbled to her knees, arms crossed over her chest, her breath ragged. “Is this your notion of chivalry, Ser Boros?” Tyrion Lannister demanded angrily. His pet sellsword stood with him, and one of his wildlings, the one with the burned eye. “What sort of knight beats helpless maids?” “The sort who serves his king, Imp.” Ser Boros raised his sword, and Ser Meryn stepped up beside him, his blade scraping clear of its scabbard. “Careful with those,” warned the dwarf’s sellsword. “You don’t want to get blood all over those pretty white cloaks.”

“Leave her face,” Joffrey commanded. “I like her pretty.” Boros slammed a fist into Sansa’s belly, driving the air out of her. When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat. As he laid the flat of the blade across her thighs, she thought her legs might break from the force of the blow. Sansa screamed. Tears welled in her eyes. It will be over soon. She soon lost count of the blows. “Enough,” she heard the Hound rasp. “No it isn’t,” the king replied. “Boros, make her naked.” ... “What is the meaning of this?” The Imp’s voice cracked like a whip, and suddenly Sansa was free. ... “Someone give the girl something to cover herself with,” the Imp said. Sandor Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse weave was scratchy against her skin, but no velvet had ever felt so fine.

When they reached Maegor’s Holdfast, she was alarmed to see that it was Ser Boros Blount who now held the bridge. His high white helm turned stiffly at the sound of their footsteps. Sansa flinched away from his gaze. Ser Boros was the worst of the Kingsguard, an ugly man with a foul temper, all scowls and jowls. “That one is nothing to fear, girl.” The Hound laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Paint stripes on a toad, he does not become a tiger.” Ser Boros lifted his visor. “Ser, where—” “Fuck your ser, Boros. You’re the knight, not me. I’m the king’s dog, remember? “ “The king was looking for his dog earlier.” “The dog was drinking. It was your night to shield him, ser. You and my other brothers.” Ser Boros turned to Sansa. “How is it you are not in your chambers at this hour, lady?” “I went to the godswood to pray for the safety of the king.” The lie sounded better this time, almost true. “You expect her to sleep with all the noise?” Clegane said. “What was the trouble?”