Game of Thrones One Shots

Sandor Clegane x Reader: When Tears Fall

Anon: 48 ("Why are you crying?") and 52 ("I wouldn't change a thing about you.") with Sandor?? Please, I love your writing

Warning: Set during Season 8 Episode 4, heavy drinking

You were sat next to him. The feast had started hours ago, and it didn't seem like the men's thirst and hunger would be stilled soon. Surviving the unthinkable and living through the night had heightened their spirits, but you feared that they would not feel their best once they came down from that high.

Sandor had been awfully quiet. You supposed after years of guarding festivities like these, watching from the shadows and keeping to himself, he wasn't used to celebrating. He almost didn't raise his glass, but when they called to celebrate and raise a drink to the Lady Arya, he obliged.

You had laughed along at the jokes of the redheaded wildling, had laughed as he encouraged the King in the North to get so utterly drunk, he would empty the contains of his stomach. Sandor had filled his glass and yours all through the night, until you had to put your hand on top of his and shake your head.

"I can't anymore." You shook your head again and giggled. You were not used to drinking so much. Not as much as Sandor at least. "No more. I can't hold my drink well as you."

He shrugged and pulled the jug away, filling his glass. Your eyes didn't break away from his, until the liquor poured over the brim of the silver cup, and drenched the table. He didn't seem to notice, but looked soflty into your eyes, and you wondered what he was thinking.

You gazed on and got lost in thought as time slowed. Even the blinking movement of your eyes slowed down, and your eyes travelled down his face, over the bumps of his nose, down unto his lips.

All these years of knowing him, you had never dared to put a toe out of line and act on your feelings. The last moments before the battle against the Night King and his army, you had thought about it. This might have been your last night after all, the last night together, the last night alive, and the last night in the realm of men. And then, you had been afraid that if you did tell him your true feelings, if you did kiss him and he rejected you, you would spend your last hours crying, and he would not have a clear head during battle. For the betterment of the both of you, you had kept quiet.

But now was different. You were alive, he was alive, and you kept on gazing, the jug soon empty, and the alcohol pouring onto the floor.

Suddenly, he shook his head and turned his entire body away from you, grunting some insults to himself.

"What is wrong", you asked and placed a soft hand on his leather jerkin.

"Why are you staring at an old dog with an ugly mug like mine. Find yourself some squire to stare at." You tugged at his shoulder, trying to make him look into your eyes, but he would not turn his body around. He was ashamed of himself, you realised. He was ashamed and it was not right.

"You are not a dog. The Hound is dead. He is gone. I only see Sandor Clegane, a warrior. And you are not ugly. You think scars make you ugly? It is the soul", you said and reached for him again, slowly twisting his body around to face you. "It is the soul that decides over beauty," repeated.

"And I know your soul. I know you. I wouldn't change a thing about you. And that is why I stare at you."

In the flicker of the candles and torches, you saw something leave his eyes, and then his cheek was wet. You could see it glistening against the dim light. Perhaps it was the alcohol, but he was always honest. That was his main principle. He was truly touched.

"Here", you said, and put your hand flat against his cheek, caressing the tears away with your hand. You kept your hand there and scooted closer to him. He put his much bigger hand around yours and made it linger there. The rest of the hall was forgotten. There was only him and you, you and him.

Ever so slowly, you leaned forward and met his lips with yours. He seemed surprised at first, but soon, he kissed you back. His rough lips prickling against your softer ones. He was the one who deepened the kiss, the one who asked for more, and you gladly gave it to him. You pulled away, when you felt your cheeks slick and wet. At first, you thought that you had cried at the beauty and the relief of the kiss, you had waited for it for a long time after all.

But your eyes were dry. It was his that were filled with even more tears than before. A small smile upon your lips, you leaned into him again, kissing away each tear, until none were left.

"Why are you crying", you asked.

"I never thought I would get to do this", he mumbled and looked to the floor.

"Oh, we'll get to do this a lot more in the future."

A/N: Also, remember how in the books, Sandor cries more than anyone?

This is probably not the fic you all wanted, but I wrote it anyway.

I am really not feeling my Nano project at the moment, so, here I am. I am on schedule, but I wanted a bit of a head start in case I lose interest/the will to live half-way through. Well, it's day 4 and here we are. Kill me honestly. I've got 7.000 words to my name, a fully plotted story, all my characters and yet, I don't want to write.