The Iron Throne (One Shots/Reader Inserts)

Sandor Clegane X Reader (2/3)

A/N: I'm sorry, but look at the attachment... HE JUST WANTS TO BE LOVED! #sorrynotsorry but Sandor is gorgeous.

A/N: If he was an American president, he'd be Babraham Lincoln.

Over the next few days, the snow became heavier and heavier, and soon, it was far too deep to travel in.

You, Sandor and Stranger were forced to find shelter from the ever-worsening storm.

You had trudged for hours through the icy cold snow, soaking wet clothes sticking to your porcelain, Stark skin.

The horrible, white, powdery ice was up to your thighs, and up to Sandor's knees. You wished you were as tall as he so that less of your legs would be as freezing as they were.

Soon, you had stumbled across a small farm, Sandor had pulled you inside immediately.

You expected to feel relief when you had stepped out from the snow, but instead, your skin burned and itched at the sudden lack of cold.

"Anyone here?" Your companion asked loudly. Though, nobody was there to answer him.

You led Stranger into the barn, he was incredibly happy to have his own straw bed for the night. He munched happily on a little stack of hay, you watched him with a smile before your teeth began to chatter and Sandor ushered you back inside. You were comforted and able to relax a little once you knew Stranger was cared for.

The house seemed to have been abandoned in a hurry, you didn't dare imagine why... You didn't want nightmares interrupting your sleep.

Blade drawn, he disappeared up the old, creaky stairs, ensuring the house was clear.

You stood for a while, simply listening to his footsteps on the floor above you... It was the furthest you'd been away from him since you left the Capital; you didn't like it. The few metres between you were unsettling.

You decided to have a quick peep into the living room.

It was small, but cosy, there was a large hearth and a bed in the corner. This little, one-bedroomed shack was evidently home to two people once.

You were drawn towards the hearth. There was kindling and dry firewood, even a sparkstone. You wasted no tim and made quick work of the fire, soon, smoke began to rise from the kindling as it began to fester.

"Put this on," you jumped around in surprise. Behind you, Sandor was holding a man's shirt out towards you. "Take your wet clothes off." Hesitantly, you extracted it from his grasp.

It had been just over a week since you dared to snuggle up to perhaps the most feared warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms, and since then, he had softened towards you.

You thought he was going soft in general, until a group of bandits stood between you and your Hound. With a few swings of his Bastard Sword, they were in pieces, and he was quick to see that you were unharmed.

You were about to turn in the direction of another area of the small house, but the harsh, winter air was something that you couldn't be dealing with, especially if you were to be removing clothes.

Instead, you returned to your place in front of the fire.

You figured that you'd been with him long enough to be comfortable enough with him to do this.

His eyes burned holes into your back as you slipped your sodden clothes off over your head.

You began to put your fresh shirt on when something stopped you. A surprisingly warm hand.

It held your side as a thumb gently ran across a raised, lumpy edge on your flesh. It tingled strangely... There was very little sensation in that part of your back, but you knew he was touching it.