#heldtoflames

Oh that voice. That beautiful familiar voice.

He hadn’t been all that sure whether he wanted to hear it again, meaning that shame would have to be confronted. The small flutter in his chest begged to differ; no matter what had happened in the past, it was fucking good to see her now. Besides, she deserved to unleash everything that had built up over their time apart, and he guessed he deserved to be on the receiving end of all that shit.

“You should know I’d rather drink alone than with a bunch of loud cunts,” Sandor muttered before he turned around to look at her. He took a moment just to take the sight of Sansa Stark illuminated delicately by the candlelight, lifting the bottle he’d snuck out towards her.

“To the Lady of Winterfell,” he uttered, then lifting the bottle to his lips in a bid to ease the nervous grip on his stomach. He then lowered it, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “…I’m glad you made it here.”

Sandor Clegane. Sansa had been quite certain she would never lay eyes on him again after their last encounter, and yet here he was, the man she’d thought of so many times she’d lost count long ago. Whether it was hundreds, thousands, or perhaps as INFINITE a number as the stars, she could no longer guess, nor did it matter. He was here, and the sight of him at once THRILLED and frightened her. 

“Favourite drinking buddy?” Sandor growled, his stoney grey eyes peering at the bastard Lord, trying to detect some kind of sarcasm in Gendry’s voice. After all, it had seemed that he was only there as Gendry’s last resort for someone to drink with – or as a voice of advice when it came to courting young Arya, something he still didn’t want to have to fucking think about. “You been drinking already, lad?” 

“Stick ‘em with the pointy end.”

Send me a url and I’ll write some positivity for it.

meme | Accepting

leaning in for a kiss

Unsure whether the young lad in front of him had lost some bet, or was simply too drunk to see, Sandor’s eyebrow furrowed, the skin above his nose crinkling. It was only when he tilted his head that he realised exactly what was happening, then grabbing his shoulder roughly.

“Woah, lad. I think you’ve had a few too many.”

Satin retreated slightly from the man they called The Hound. “I actually haven’t had anything, but will take a drink if your offering,” he said. 

As he watched his companion in the dim light of the tavern his smile faded and dark eyes grew wide and sincere. 

@heldtoflames

Ice seemed to pervade every single facet of Jaime Lannister's being. Cold and snow was all that he had known for the past few months but in Winterfell, he could hide from it. The warmth of the hearth...the warmth of Brienne of Tarth's bed...many a place could he go to avoid the chill.

But now, he was exposed. Dressed in nothing but the clothes he had arrived at Winterfell in as the snow fell thickly around him. Even his beard and hair felt frozen.

As his horse moved forward, he could see a shape a few metres ahead. A figure atop a horse. As he moved closer, he could see who it was.

"Clegane," he said once he was certain he was within the man's earshot.

Dog. Ernessa always had a soft spot dogs but this hound was made for a different hunt and carried no softness in his eyes. Kissed by the flames of created by his own kin. Brother against brother. Everyone knew the story, it was prime entertainment to laugh behind the dreaded hound and his scars. Those high lords and ladies of the court could never see beauty the way she did, and she was such beauty in this particular creature. Beyond human but not a god. She imaged he would be traditionally beautiful without the scars but she would have to kill him then. Pretty things she had to kill, it was her hobby. Beautiful men seldom lasted the night in her company but what a night that was.

Ernessa had fondness for this particular brothel. The women were beautiful, the wine was of quality, and the figs tasted ever so sweet.