Loyal But Not Royal PT. 1
Summary: Married to a monster. Yearning for his hound. Sent to King's Landing to marry Joffrey Baratheon, you soon learn that the crown is a cage lined with gold. Your only unlikely comfort comes from Sandor Clegane, the King's vicious and tormented protector. Soon, forbidden glances become stolen moments as a dangerous and aching bond forms between you.
Tags: cis fem!reader, nsfw, 18+, Tyrell reader, arranged marriage, jealousy, angst, yearning, eventual smut.
Let me know if I should make this into a series!!!
The corset under your dress was entirely too snug, its fabric chafing and the ribbons cinching tighter with each step. It was as if the garment was strangling you–warning you–like it was holding you back from your fate. You were drowning in its lace and trim. Your lungs filled with air over and over, and you knew you were alive, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were suffocating.
Your eyes followed along each passing pew, each one decorated in Tyrell roses, your family’s crest. The boy at the altar–Joffrey Baratheon–awaited you in his blood red doublet and cape. His golden crown and head of curls shined, both gleaming as he stood tall. His eyes trailed over you, catching your stare swiftly before averting his gaze.
You felt the air hitch in your lungs, his icy stare sending shivers through your body.
You were nearly there, the steps lay only a few feet ahead.
Your fathers’ grip tightened around your arm.
“Nothing to fear, my dear.” He whispered softly, patting your gloved hand. “I have faith that the King will take great care of you.”
You glanced at him. His skin glistened faintly in the light, and though his eyes remained fixed ahead, something wavered beneath the surface.
“Please welcome the Lord Tyrell and his Lady Daughter of Highgarden!"
And then he was gone, replaced by that of the Lannister King now helping you up the altar.
“My lady.” He said, bowing as he held your hand in a soft grasp. He raised your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against the satin of your glove.
You curtsied, using the moment to steal one last look at your father. His gaze was still weary, and his posture was rigid. Shoulders drawn tight with a tension you knew was for you.
You stood, your body trembling as Joffrey took your hands in his. Now that you were face to face with him, you couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. Something in his stare unsettled you so deeply, so you decided to focus on the knight just behind him.
Sandor Clegane–The Hound–was a large man, and strong too you knew. His broad shoulders spanned the width of a man and half, and his arms looked big enough to take down a horse in one swing of his broad sword. It was said he stood taller than any man in all the seven kingdoms, and when you watched him tilt for the first time you’d known the tales were true. He towered over the helms of knights and squires alike, and no lady risked giving him her favor. He frightened them–frightened most–with his face half charred, but you never minded.
He wasn’t a kind man. No–he was vicious. He was every bit as ruthless and brutal as they said. With countless battles and tourneys under his belt, he was a man to behold. One that no ordinary knight dare challenge.
But you’d never known him to be cruel.
Joffrey’s gaze devoured you as you stepped from your litter.
The journey from Highgarden had taken weeks, and you were in desperate need of a bath and a real bed, but the King insisted he tour the castle with you.
“My lady.” He greeted with practiced ease.
His icy stare cut through you.
You bowed, remembering your courtesies.
He took your arm in his and began towards the Keep, already boasting about his latest hunt. Behind you, the castle guards slowly lowered the portcullis, and its gears and pulleys screamed in anguish. Almost as if a warning for the pain you would soon face yourself.
Arm and arm with the Boy King, you strolled lazily through the castle halls, as he bored you half to death with his retellings of castle history and Lannister war victories.
When you reached the Throne room, a group of Kingsguard were waiting to receive you, and among them was Sandor.
He’d caught your eye immediately, as he stood out from the rest. His pitch black armor was riddled with scrapes and dents, though his cape was stark white and gold, a sharp contrast from the darkness that flowed from him.
A bald knight with a white beard approached,
“My lady.” He said, kneeling before you.
“As knights of the Kingsguard we serve not only His Grace the King, but his betrothed as well. We are at your service.”
You gave the man a small smile, “Thank you Ser.”
The knight nodded and stood, resuming his place in the fold.
Joffrey smiled brightly, almost sadistically. “My men will gladly lay down their lives for you, My Lady, especially since you are soon to be their Queen.”
You’d never been called that before, and you weren’t sure you were even ready to hold that title yet.
A sudden yawn erupted from your lungs before you could stop it. Heat rushed to your cheeks, fear and embarrassment tangling in your chest.
“My apologies, Your Grace.” You stammered quickly. “It was… a very long ride.”
Joffrey only held you in place, his eyes creasing as he forced himself to smile, his unnerving gaze never leaving your face.
“Oh no My Lady, you must forgive me.” he said tightly. “I’m sure you’re in need of some rest from your journey.”
He snapped incessantly towards his Kingsguard. “Dog! Escort the Lady to her chambers!”
In the blink of an eye Sandor was there, eyes facing forward as he awaited your permission to move.
You swallowed hard as unease settled deep in your stomach.
Joffrey pressed a kiss to your hand quickly–carelessly–and turned on his heel to the door.
“I look forward to seeing you on the morrow.”
His voice carried, filling up the expanse of empty space in the throne room hall.
You shivered as you felt his presence surround you.
You drew in a deep breath, and turned your attention to his dog.
He looked down at you briefly, his eyes lingering over your face a moment longer than they should’ve.
He offered you his plated arm, “Aye.”
Now, Sandor met your gaze. His chocolate eyes weighted with something more than brutality, something deeper than the savagery you’d heard whisper of–something aching, almost..sorrowful.
He held your stare until he couldn’t anymore, his jaw tightening as he watched the priest begin to wrap your hands in ribbon.
It was finally time for your vows to be spoken.
In tandem, you and Joffrey began to recite the ancient promise.
“Father, Smith, Warrior,”
Sandor’s gaze flicked to yours once more.
“Mother, Maiden, Crone & Stranger,”
His eyes blazed with fire and steel, his jaw clenched so hard you thought it might crack.
“I am his and he is mine,”
“I am hers and she is mine,”
He dropped his stare, opting to study his boots instead.
You felt disappointment rack through you.
“From this day, until the end of my days.”
“What do they really call you?” You asked Joffrey’s dog, the both of you now out of earshot.
Sandor looked down at you, his stare unrelenting.
You all but shrunk under his gaze. “I-I’m sorry, Ser I-”
“I’m no Ser.” He rasped, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. “And they call me The Hound.”
You swallowed, relaxing as he stared ahead.
“You haven’t got a real name?”
He chuckled, “Not one that you can use m’lady.”
You smiled, tilting your head to study the unscarred half of his face.
And then–before you even realized your foot had missed the step–you were slipping, and time slowed. Your grip on Sandor’s arm faltered as you made to soften the fall, but before you could, he was there. His steel arms caught your waist in a hard, instinctive grip, hauling you against him before the fall could claim you. Your body crashed against the solid wall of his chestplate. The armor cold against the soft skin above the curve of your bodice, drawing a startled breath from your lungs.
His arms were wrapped around you fully now–protective, possessive almost, like the Dog he’d been trained to be.
The scent of wine and smoke clung to him, warm and intoxicating, overtaking your senses until your heart was pounding in your ears. You felt the steady rise and fall of his chest, the heat of him bleeding through the steel, the sheer size of him enveloping you.
You swallowed hard, trembling in his hold.
“Alright m’lady?” He asked, voice gravelly as he released his grip.
You cleared your throat, cheeks still flushed as you felt the warmth of his hands leave you.
“Sandor.” He gruffed, tugging you down the remaining steps. “Call me Sandor.”
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