(a/n: this one is actually an older one that I missed when I was first posting on here.)
Somehow, someway you had won the Iron Throne. You were the Queen of Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm and, for the most part, you seemed well liked. As a queen, you were kind but still firm, much like a mother to her children. You always made decisions based on what you believed was best for Realm and took the advice of your small council to heart. If you had issues making a decision, you knew there was one person you could turn to. Sandor Clegane, formally known as "The Hound", which you refused to call him.
Sandor was part of your Queensguard and was with you all the time. You knew you could trust him to give you an honest answer. He had proven his worth time and time again. Your predecessors may not have appreciated him, but you certainly did especially after he saved your life.
You were returning to the Keep after a morning of visiting the orphanage in Flea Bottom when it happened. A group of rebels attacked out of nowhere. An arrow went whizzing right in front of your head as another man was about to bring his blade down into your shoulder. He would have succeeded had Sandor not been there. Sandor was soon covered in the blood of the assailant as he grabbed you by the waist.
Sandor held tightly to you as he pushed his way back up to the Keep, shouting orders at the other knights to grab the remaining rebels and bring them to dungeons. "Sandor, I can walk!" He ignored you until you were safely in the throne room with him. "Feel better?" you asked. He grunted and you shook your head fondly. "Thank you, Sandor. You saved my life. How can I repay you?" you asked him. His brown eyes met you (e/c) ones.
"Don't need ta," was all he said. You shook your head again before taking a seat on the throne. You just didn't understand why they would attack you so suddenly and without provocation. "Why Sandor? Am I a bad queen? Have I done something? You are always honest with me, " you asked him. He knew exactly what you meant."Some people are never happy. Doesn't matter what ya do or don't do, they'll never be happy." You glanced at him. Perhaps he was right. The door to the throne room opened and Tyrion Lannister, your Hand of the Queen, walked in. "Are you alright, Your Grace?" You nodded. Tyrion was one of the first people to pledge his allegiance to you.
"Very good getting Her Grace away from the fray, Dog," he said. Your head instantly snapped to him. "Lord Hand, what have I said about that word?" You despised when people talked down to Sandor simply because his looks and bloodlust. It was one of the few pet peeves you had. "My apologies, You Grace." You looked at him pointedly. "Ah, yes. My apologies, Ser Clegane."
Sandor grunted in response. When you were alone again, he turned to you with a scowl. "Ya don't need ta do that, Your Grace. I've been dealing with it my whole life." You met his scowl with a soft smile. "You protect me Sandor and in return, I treat you the way all people should be treated, with kindness and respect. I certainly expect my Small Council to do the same." You turned away from him and he smiled a bit. Of all the kings and queens he had guarded, you were the only one he was proud to protect.
V'3<