The Hound who never bites you - III.
!please read the other chapters first!
Hi everyone, I’m Nyx and this is my Sandor (The Hound) fanfiction. -chapter 3- 1920W
The story will describe a slowly developing, adventurous, exciting, and at times violent plot. I will be posting new parts weekly!
If you’d prefer to read it on Wattpad, you can do that as well:
The story will describe a slowly developing, adventurous, exciting, and at times violent plot. I will be posting new parts weekly!
I always welcome feedback, so feel free to use the comment section. If you’d like me to tag you, just let me know🩶
!English is not my native language, so I’m sorry if I make any mistakes! Please let me know in the comments if you notice any!
Another five years in a place even more miserable than before. Or maybe more than five, you stopped counting long ago. Fights upon fights. The way they treated you could hardly be called treatment at all. You were given food, perhaps even more than you strictly needed, that was the only thing that favored you. They soon realized it was more entertaining to keep you alive and force you to fight than to weaken you completely and have you killed in the arena. Unfortunately for you. You would have been happier if someone had simply swept a sword through your weakened body rather than having to amuse these people. Your hands and feet were always bound, to prevent you from escaping. They knew perfectly well you had both the mind and the strength for it. You were kept in a cell with the other prisoners. You would have sworn dogs were once kept here. You were only given your weapon back on certain days. Every Thursday, when fires were lit around the arena, making the fight even more difficult.
On the evening of a Wednesday, you were thrown into yet another bout. Everything was the same as always. If you executed one opponent successfully, the next would come. A minimum of two, a maximum of five opponents, then the next round would begin with different fighters. You were in the final round now, with three men left against you. You drowned the first in the water at the center of the arena, drove your sword into the second man's stomach, and slit the third's throat.
"Have you run out of cheers for the final round?" you asked sarcastically as you lifted your last opponent by the hair. "The moment a woman wins, everyone shuts the hell up! Crippled motherfuckers..." you muttered, spat on the defeated opponent, then tossed the body aside.
As you turned to leave the arena, a soft clap reached your ears. You stopped and looked up at the stands. It was a girl. Short brown hair, brown eyes sparkling with joy. A faint smile appeared on your face, you had never seen her before. She could have been eleven to thirteen years old. But then someone struck her on the head from behind. He clearly did not appreciate her expressing joy over your victory.
Your gaze slid to the man standing behind her, and the moment you saw his face, the blood in your veins froze. You never thought you would see him again, especially not in the company of a child. It was Sandor. You took a deep breath, then walked out of the arena.
As you stepped through the gate, chains were immediately fastened around your wrists and ankles. The man who had bought you years ago at King's Landing appeared before you with a wide smile. That sly, low smile. You hated it.
"Looks like you've got yourself a fan." he said mockingly.
You rolled your eyes, then stepped aside to avoid him and walked out into the open air. As you were about to go on your way, back to your place, more precisely, he girl who had clapped for you suddenly stepped in front of you, seemingly out of nowhere.
"Teach me how to fight like that!" she said, almost demanding it.
You looked her up and down, then sighed and glanced at Sandor looming behind her.
"What are you doing here with a child?" you asked in an indifferent tone.
"My prisoner." he replied simply.
You raised your chain-bound hands. "This is what a prisoner looks like."
"He's taking me to his aunt, hoping she'll pay good money for me." the girl said. "How do you know him?" she asked.
"Before I ended up here, I lived in King's Landing. During that time, we had the misfortune of knowing each other." you said, looking down at the girl.
"(Y/N)!" a man shouted from behind you. "Looks like you've found tomorrow's opponent!"
Your eyebrow shot up. "The little girl?" you asked in shock. You knew you were surrounded by sadistic animals, but fighting a child? Even that was too much for you.
"The one standing next to her." the man said, pointing at Sandor with a grin.
"Why would I have any cause to fight for anyone?" Sandor asked, one eyebrow lifting.
"Defeat her, and you'll be paid two sacks of gold." the man said, resting his hands on his hips.
"So be it." Sandor replied.
Your eyes widened.
For years you had prayed you would never be forced to face him. And now, as if summoned by fate itself, he stood before you. There was no way out.
"But tomorrow is Thursday." you said, as though that alone might be reason enough.
"Exactly." the man laughed. "That's what will make it all the sweeter." With that, he turned and walked away.
"What happens on Thursdays?" the girl asked, her voice uncertain.
"Fire." you said, meeting Sandor's gaze.
"You lie." he snapped at once.
"I do not." you answered coldly. "Every Thursday they ring the arena with flames, shrinking the ground beneath our feet. They do it to strip us of space, of breath, to make survival harder."
You had spent enough years in King's Landing to know the truth well: Sandor feared fire. It could have been your advantage, your easy victory. But there was a child at his side. Prisoner or not, she would never make it to her aunt alone. Not alive.
"Listen to me," you said quietly, urgently. "I beg you. Do not enter the arena in armor tomorrow. The iron will scorch your flesh once the fires are lit. When the flames rise and I leap to the other side, you must cast down your weapon and walk away. Say the gold is not worth the cost. They will let you go. You will live."
Your eyes searched his, pleading now, stripped of all pride.
Before he could protest, a man struck you on the back of the head, snapping that you should have been in your place long ago. So you turned your back on them and went where you were told, to eat and to sleep. All you could do was hope that Sandor would trust you, and do exactly as you had told him.
The following evening came all too soon. You were nervous, how could you not be? You had never wanted to stand against Sandor; you wouldn't have wished it on your worst enemy. You knew his strength, and you knew just how stubborn he truly was. You had nearly bitten your lower lip raw from the stress. You had been given neither food nor water since last night, nor throughout the day, and because of that you were more exhausted than ever before. That did you no favors. Still, you would be given your weapon, and you would only have to face three opponents. Or perhaps only two, if luck favored you with Sandor.
Your round opened the night's events. You and Sandor were led into the arena at the same time. A breath of relief escaped your lips when you saw he wasn't wearing his armor, but that didn't mean he wouldn't fight. Only that he had taken at least one of your warnings to heart.
At the sound of a horn, the fires were lit. You saw fear in Sandor's eyes as his hand tightened around his sword and his entire body tensed. A second horn announced the start of the round. You leapt into the stream as fast as you could, soaking yourself completely. When you climbed out at Sandor's side, he stared at you in confusion, as though he thought you were trying to trick him.
"What is it, you big dog? Not moving?" you shouted at him mockingly. And as Sandor moved toward you, you sprang back in one decisive motion, over the flames to the other side.
"To hell with this farce! And fuck your gold!" Sandor roared in fury before storming out of the arena.
It happened just as you said it would. They let him go without a word. He was no prisoner, he was a "volunteer." And as such, no one could force him to fight. The crowd may have jeered him, but he spared both you and himself from a brutal, pointless battle.
The opponent who followed Sandor was weak, you dispatched him easily. But the last one... that man was a trained warrior. He landed more than a few blows on you. He pressed his overheated armor against your left arm, and even though you were soaked, the contact left an ugly, wide burn across your left upper arm. On top of that, he opened deep cuts across your back and leg, sending you crashing to the ground. Your only stroke of luck was that the body of the previous loser had not yet been removed from the arena; you snatched up his sword and used it to take the final opponent's head.
After your victory, you left the arena exhausted, utterly spent. You had never faced an opponent this strong before. Your wounds promised nothing good. Your left arm reeked of burnt flesh. You clenched your weapon tightly in your right hand. As you crossed the threshold of the exit, the man assigned to restrain you was already reaching for the chains. You had had enough. With a single swing of your blade, you cut his throat.
You moved on, heading for the corridor, but then the man who had brought you here years ago appeared before you, a mocking smile on his face.
"(Y/N)! How did it feel when—" he began his taunt.
With one decisive motion, you slit his throat as well.
"I should have done this a long time ago." you hissed, spitting on his dying body.
"(Y/N)!" You heard a familiar voice. It was the girl from yesterday and behind her stood Sandor, already clad in his armor.
"What the fuck are you doing here? You should've been gone from this place long ago." your gaze flicked between their faces.
"We came for you. You're coming with us." the girl said in a tone that allowed no refusal.
"And why would I go anywhere with a girl whose name I don't even know, and a man I spent my years in King's Landing avoiding whenever I could?" you raised an eyebrow.
"Because unlike them, we're not going to kill you!" the girl shouted back.
"Lies." you rasped, coughing violently as you sagged against the corridor wall, your eyes slipping shut.
"Do something!" the girl shouted at Sandor.
"Do what?" Sandor snapped back. "Throw her over my shoulder? If she's set on dying here, she can rot."
You heard them arguing, but the words no longer reached you. Your hearing dulled, sinking into a shrill, relentless ringing that grew louder by the heartbeat. You tried to push yourself away from the wall, but your body betrayed you, rather than standing, it pitched forward into the dark. After that, there was nothing.
Sandor caught you before you hit the stone.
"Stubborn as sin, both of you." he growled.
He hoisted you up and, with Arya at his side, carried you out beneath the open sky.
Arya swung up onto her horse. Sandor mounted after her, you held tight in his arms. While the crowd's attention was fixed on the next slaughter in the arena, they slipped away, vanishing with you into the night.