Sandor with a s/o who loves to draw/sketch/paint him? It can be hcs or a drabble or anything really.
Book!Sandor please. He’s so ugly I love him. ☹️❤️🩹
Praise be, praise be. Ugly is hot. Now this is a miracle, but I'll not waste a thousand words haggling over the fact that the features he's described to have are actually those which I consider attractive BUT this is not a complete miracle and I will instead ramble on about the issue of painting/drawing/sketching.
We don't see it much in ASOIAF. The artistry mentioned is often mummery, embroidery/needling, sculptures, and tapestries. (Although some armors seem to be quite the works of art, I am looking at you Ser Loras Tyrell).
Now, I am not claiming that this activity doesn't exist but I will be using our own history as a reference. Painting and even drawing/sketching were expensive back in the day (especially painting). Parchment isn't cheap. We don't really see nobles or the Faith acting as patrons for any type of painter. The only thing I can think of is shield-painters. So for the sake of ease, I am making this SO a member of nobility.
Every artist has their goal. To capture beauty, spark creativity, make a mark, or simply suck a little less.
It's a cliché to moan about not being understood, so you try to not moan too much when those around you don't understand. You smile, a knowing smile, often pared with a light nod. The "please-stop-and-please-do-not-make-me-ask-you-to"-nod. You've mastered it.
The thing is... a face is a face. Sure, the features change a bit but the principle remains the same. It's one of the things you never say out loud. How boring drawing can make the world. You study it, sure, but you study to capture not to admire. That can come later. Only if later ever came.
Every person has their own impossible. Some feat, some dream, something out of reach. Yours walked around the halls of the Red Keep.
Sandor Clegane was incredible. His face was incredible.
Plenty of people came to you for a portrait. Not him. One of the guards had asked you to draw him without the scar, curious how the man would look unburnt but it was one of the few portraits you refused. You never told Clegane, of course. The thought of that made you shutter. The guard would have stopped his howls long before Clegane stopped his fist from meeting the poor sod's face.
The solution was simple. You never asked for permission.
It wasn't a perfect likeness. You forgave yourself for that. After all, you had only managed to study him in passing but even the unburnt side of his face was difficult to do justice. He was more rugged. Harsher. Sader. You couldn't draw the burnt side. It was too intimate and you couldn't shake the sense that you wanted to do it justice.
So you continued. It became your secret. The ever-growing bundle of drawings of the Hound. Whenever you passed him in the hall your heartbeat soared, what if he could tell? What if he could sense that you carried him around? Glimpses set on parchment.
He was handsome. Fine, ugly by most people's count, but he was. No one else had a face you could study endlessly and never tire, but he did.
One evening you set out, it wasn't even to find him. Princess Myrcella wanted you to draw one of the birds in the garden for her little brother. The bundle of Hound-drawings just came with. They had grown into a source of comfort and shame. What if some servant found them? What if he was told? You'd die. If not by his hand, your own heart would just die right there on the spot.
Clegane shouldn't even have been there. The garden wasn't for him.
The collision was brutal... well, brutal for you. It didn't as much as budge him. Clegane remained a tower of darkened steel and you became a mess of cloth, parchment, powdered coal and a broken brush.
As you gathered the drawings you felt his gaze burning into your neck. Was it too late to tattle on the guard who wanted him drawn unburnt? Better him than you.
Clegane said something. You didn't hear, not while you talked over him and past him. You couldn't even retell what was said, you just talked and talked while you fled like a scorched rat.
Dorne? Sothoryos? Perhaps you could board a ship sailing toward the Jade Sea? Forsake your name and house and simply disappear. Yes, a sound plan. A fine plan.
Clegane didn't find you right away. Two days passed before he caught you in the hall, heading towards the Princess to deliver her drawing. There was no question, just a command:
"Talk."
You'd never been so quiet and so he shook you and repeated the command.
"I was bored," you said, "and you're difficult to draw, interesting to draw. I haven't shown them to anyone... you could have them if you like or I'll destroy them if that's any better."
Clegane said nothing. He just released you and once again you scurried away like a scorched rat.
By nightfall a knock filled your bedchamber. Before you even opened the door, the stench of wine and ale seeped through the cracks.
Clegane didn't say a word as he stormed inside. You didn't even manage to tell yourself a prayer that it was drink that reddened his face. Rage, hot and black, filled his grey eyes.
"That the lot of you do? Pissing yourself with fear before me and snicker behind my back," he spat, "interesting."
"You are interesting," you answered meekly.
The chair let out a crack as his body slammed down upon it. The laughter thick in his throat.
"Draw then. Go on, if it's any good I might let you live."
So you drew him. Clegane never told you if he thought the drawing any good, but surviving that night was answer enough.
Strangely enough, you hoped he'd come again. You'd take more time, allow yourself to admire him. Just for a moment.
