• A (Affection - How affectionate is he with you?):
Sandor is moderately affectionate, but he tries his best not to show it too openly around others for fear that they will use you as a way to get to him. In private, on the other hand, he’s all closeness and hands on every inch of your skin, wants to breathe in your scent, hear the sweet sound of your voice, feel your warmth against him… He’s a rough and tough guy, but god do you make him so tender for you.
• B (Breath - What do you do that takes his breath away?):
Just existing, really… There’s nothing in particular because he’s always ceaselessly amazed by you and all that you are. One thing that drives him wild, though, is whenever you touch your skin to his, whether it be running your fingers along his arm or nuzzling your nose into his neck. He just loves feeling you, knowing that you are real and that you do exist.
• C (Cuddle - Do they cuddle? If they do, how and when do they cuddle?):
Sandor is apt to keep you tightly wrapped in his arms most nights; he knows that it’s the safest place you could possibly be, and it reassures him that if something were to ever happen during the night, it’s exactly where you need to be for him to best protect you. It doesn’t hurt that you're quite warm and soft… Not that Sandor has much trouble falling asleep anyway, but he sleeps best when you’re pressed up against him. He prefers to sleep on his back, so he usually keeps an arm around you and curls you tightly into his side or chest.
• D (Dream - What does he dream of doing with you?):
He dreams of leaving with you, somewhere far away, somewhere where his past can’t follow and he doesn’t have to suffer nightmares of losing you to it. He doesn’t need anyone other than you, but he understands that it might not be feasible for you to leave everything behind (unless you want to, in which case he’s already packing your bags and gearing up the horses).
• E (Effort - How much effort does he put into the relationship?):
Fighting, drinking, and you are pretty much the only things on his mind most of the time, so he has a lot of room to give you all of the effort you need and deserve. Say what you want and Sandor is often right on it. Even if you don’t say anything, his eyes are almost always on you trying to read your mood or your thoughts so he can anticipate what you might need. Just don’t take advantage of his willingness for you; he won’t take too kindly to that.
• F (Fear - What does he do when you’re scared? How does he handle it?):
It depends why you’re scared. Is it something he can control? If so, you better believe that he will do everything in his power to do something about whatever it is that might be scaring you, whether it be a person he needs to deal with or a circumstance he can handle in your favor. If it’s something he can’t control, he’ll hold you tight in hopes that he can squeeze your fears away alongside reminding you that he would never let anyone or anything bring you any harm.
• G (Gift - What kinds of gifts does he give you? Does he want a gift in return?):
He’s not much of a gift person, neither receiving nor giving. He doesn’t even really know where to begin if he were to get you a gift… Sandor would need someone who’s not too material-minded. He’s more of an acts-of-service kind of lover.
• H (Hugs - Does he hug you? How often?):
Sandor loves wrapping his large arms around your smaller frame, pulling you so tightly into his chest that sometimes you have to give him a tap to remind him you need to breathe. He likes putting his hand to the back of your head and tucking your face into his neck, burying his own face into your hair and smelling your sweet scent. He doesn’t hug you often in public, preferring to keep those intimate moments strictly between the two of you. But if he’s been off traveling and hasn’t seen you for weeks, anyone around be damned, he will be scooping you up in his arms the moment his eyes find you once again.
• I (Intimacy - How romantic is he? Does he have problems with intimacy?):
He isn’t great at large displays of romance; he prefers to show intimacy through physical touch and service. He might not plan a candlelit dinner for you, but he will bring you back that book you’ve been looking for when he’s forced to travel a kingdom over as the king’s bodyguard. It was hard for him to give in to his want and need for intimacy in the beginning, feeling that he was not worthy of you or your love (he still feels this way…), but he has since given up on trying to quash those desires and now gives his full self to you.
• J (Jealousy - Does he get jealous? How does he react when jealous?):
Sandor isn’t the type to get upset at you over his jealousy. He’s fine with you wearing whatever you want, going wherever you want, being around whomever you want… He knows that if someone tries something you wouldn’t like, he can easily cut them down. He is wrought with the idea that you can and should do better than him, however, so he can’t help that tug of anxiety when he sees you in the good company of another man.
• K (Kiss - Is he a good kisser? Does he like to kiss? How often does he try to kiss?):
Oh, one of his favorite things in the universe is to kiss you. Again, he doesn’t appreciate prying eyes, but his lips will be on yours any moment he can sneak one in whether it be when passing you in the secluded hallways or in the privacy of your room late into the night. He’s a good kisser because he kisses you wholeheartedly every single time. Never a quick, thoughtless peck but always an intense, fervid offering of his whole self.
• L (Love - When does he say he loves you? How often does he say it? Does he prefer to say it or show it?):
Sandor isn’t the best with words, feeling a bit awkward trying to express himself. He’d much prefer to show you how he feels. He says it (very) occasionally, but always softly, perhaps whispered, and earnestly, full eye contact; since it’s not too common for him to say it, he wants to make sure you know it when he does.
• M (Marriage - Does he want to get married? If so, what kind of ceremony?):
The thought of some kind of formal ceremony fills him with immense dread, so if you were to get married, he would want it to be just the two of you and an officiant (but the officiant can fuck off right after…). Marriage isn’t a big deal to him one way or another, so whatever you want, Sandor is happy with.
hi i love your gregor fic!!! i have a request if that’s cool, so ya know how rhaenyra and daemon snuck out and went to flea bottom and to the brothel in hotd, welll i was thinking princess!reader and gregor her guard they sneak off and go into a brothel and ykyk!! then like the next day, someone goes to the queen and small council to tell them the rumors and sandor is just like in the corner 🤨🫢🫨
Tarnishment
Gregor Clegane x Baratheon Princess! Reader
NSFW!!
Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age.All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)
CONTENT: SMUT- Nudity, fingering, climbing the Mountain (obviously), assumed! Murder, canon compliant! Sex work (prostitutes, brothels etc), mentions of alcohol (mostly wine), implied! Infidelity (Baratheon Princess does it Nyra style)
MASTERPOST
Delicious smut underneath the cut
Greggie C, Big Bob and the Lannisters are all their own individual warnings.
Word Count: 3.6K
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
Holy frickle frackle mackrel I genuinely loved writing this so much- WHY do you all how so many good ideas OH MY LORD.
Thank you so much for this, we are all sluts for Greggie now. Gods be good.
I'm trying to get through my requests, but soon we'll have lil sprinklings of things- I've got another Ramsay and a very special surprise fic (hold your excitement) lined up for y'all once I'm done my requests.
Live, Laugh, Gregor Clegane.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
Tarish (verb): To compromise, damage, soil or sully.
When your mother bears you a little brother, at the grand age of seven, you are old enough to understand that your importance has dropped significantly. You were never going to be heir to the throne, not whilst your father has two living brothers, but there is still a general sense that you are no longer as necessary to the Baratheon lineage, not now little baby Joffrey has a golden cradle, with yellow hair to match.
Your father doesn’t care much for Joffrey, or Tommen, or Myrcella. You don’t think he cares for much besides wine and whores and hunting down animals in the Godswood. He calls your siblings the ‘Lion Pups’, a secret joke between the two of you. They could pass as pure Lannisters, with their slim figures and golden hair, but you? You are your father’s Baratheon princess, and you are his most favourite.
After your first blood, and, coincidentally enough, Joffrey’s fourth nameday, your father decides you should each have a member of the Kingsguard to take care of you. The crown prince is now too old to need a nurse, and you are a fertile little lady- The phrasing makes you cringe- You need protection from debauchery, as your mother says. You wonder if the world is truly so terrible that a man could desire you.
Cersei wants to give you the Hound, but you are far too good for Sandor Clegane, the Burned Knight. So you get his brother, the Mountain, and already you know why the men shiver when they see him, and why women hide their babies. Joffrey is given over to Sandor, to your mother’s dismay.
And so, it begins. You attend your lessons on the back of a Mountain, you watch him fight and train as you sew, and when you go into town you are permitted to stray into the markets and shops, with your personal guard barely a foot behind. You remind yourself you have more freedoms than any princess when you receive another scolding from your mother, when you long to attend the hunts.
You are an affectionate person, Cersei knows that, but even she grows suspicious at how close Gregor has gotten to you. He carries you places as though you are his bride, as though you could not walk without him, and whispers begin of your behaviour in private being far less innocent. But, there is no evidence.
Summer is a privilege and a pain all at the same time. The palace is hot, and sticky, as are you. Even with the soft breezes of night, the warmth hides not so far away. If anyone were to see you, they’d find you most indecent. Your nightdress is short, and covers just enough of your cleavage that your nipples are not exposed. If you jumped, or did anything other than walk a few slow paces, you aren’t sure they wouldn’t be.
“Alright, Princess?”
You hadn’t realised Gregor was standing there. You are too hot and too bored to do anything more than feel a bit sorry for yourself. He knows that.
The response you give is somewhere between a groan and a grunt, it makes him laugh. You like to make him laugh, it reminds you he isn’t just the big, scary Mountain you see in his armour. Which you suddenly realise he isn’t wearing.
Your Mountain is dressed in a tunic, a red one- Lannister, obviously- And you aren’t sure you’ve ever seen him without his armour. But then, you suppose he isn’t off duty very much, his duties are very much full-time.
“Mh- What are you wearing?”
Gregor moves closer, throwing something light upon your bed,
“Goin’ out. Get dressed.”
He pulls you out of bed, an action which reminds you of your nurses doing the same. The man pulls your nightdress up for you, pulling a simple dress more suited for one of the staff over you, and a cloak on the top.
“Thank Dana downstairs, she’s letting you borrow it.”
“Did you steal a dress?”
You are granted a shrug in response, you assume that means a yes.
Though Gregor is not easily disguised, there are plenty of ladies in the Keep with your hair colour and figure. You could just as easily be a whore as you are a princess, and that delights you.
The courtyard is dark and empty, no-one wants to venture out this late, not anyone who cares about their reputation, at least. The Street of Silk, and her sister streets, will all be bustling with off-duty guards, and whoever else feels the need for company. The guards stationed at the gates assume the same of Gregor when he passes, you think.
“Who’s watching the princess?”
Your heart jumps, you cling onto him almost suspiciously tightly, and you know that they notice.
“Do you think I care about the fucking duty board? Check yourself if you’re that bothered.”
The other scoffs at that, and you feel him jab your shoulder,
“Something wrong with your whore?”
“Don’t know, just taking her back.”
Gregor lifts you up, you hide your face in his shoulder. The guards let you pass, and once you are reasonably away from the Keep, he puts you back down.
“Arseholes.” The man looks back, keeping you close, “let’s have some fun, eh? I know the place.”
King's Landing is a seedy place, you know that even in the day, but at night, it ignites. The streets are filled with lust and shamelessness, you wonder if your septa might die at the sight of it. Whores line the streets, and you can tell which are the newer, poorer ones, and which of the women come from ‘respectable’ houses. He leads you through the Street of Silk, you know it even without any markers, from the drunk men lying against the walls, or on the ground, and you are frightened.
You see no silk, you see blood and piss and far too much of other women, but that is all.
The place he leads you to is clean, at least, and reasonably unassuming. There are candles and flowers outside, you wonder if this brothel is one of the higher-end ones, or if inside it is double as bad as the streets.
You are sat neatly on a cushioned bench, and ladies bring you drink. Wines, and ales and other alcohols you have neither heard about nor tasted. You see them giggle to themselves, and you realise that your disguise is poor. They all know the Baratheon princess has graced their presence. It will have some impact on you later, the thought crosses your mind as Gregor tilts your third cup of wine down your throat, when one of them is offered a pretty gold coin in exchange for all of your secrets.
But, you do not care. You are allowed to have fun, even if your idea of fun stems past the gossiping, and the sewing your mother would like you to do.
“Gods-”
You are drawn from your thoughts by Gregor, who sets another cup down on the table,
“You Baratheons really can drink, Princess, that’s your fifth tonight.”
Sure enough, the cup in your hand has four identical siblings, strewn about in various positions across the table, and one on the floor. The man shakes his head.
“Well, how many have you had?”
“Don’t take wine. Woman’s drink.”
When the music begins, you aren’t truly sure if it’s real, or if your alcohol-addled mind has simply hallucinated it to entertain you; but Gregor shuffles his huge form over, and puts an arm around your waist, glancing occasionally to the platform in front of you, so you assume it to be real.
The women who wear any clothes wear barely any at all. They dance with feathers, and pretty shiny things- Baubles and bells, which jingle with every step they take. Some have silver hair, Targaryen hair, and you are reminded that even though their fiery blood has faded out, given your father’s proclivity for murdering them, some men still want to tame the dragon. They wink, and they gasp, and they moan, as though their dancing is the most exciting thing they could have ever done. Some of the men- For it is all men- Jeer, they call them whores, and other words you can’t imagine anyone else repeating. It makes Gregor laugh, and for once you aren’t so sure if you like that. He notices, pressing a comforting kiss to your forehead.
“We’ll go to our room in a bit, yeah? You’ll like that.”
Not entirely sure what he means, you nod anyway.
The dancers end in a puff of smoke and incense, you pretend not to notice as they slip away, with one, or two, or even three men chasing after them. You wonder if three men could even fit inside the one woman, and your mind brings you to unsavoury places.
You don’t feel particularly drunk, the wine must have been watered down, but still, Gregor lifts you up to take you further into the brothel. The noises are no less than sinful- Groans, and cries and the screams of men as they finish themselves off. You hear names, whispered into the night, and the whores run to and from their entertainment rooms, in various states of blush and undress. Most are nude.
The room you are brought to is right at the top of the brothel, where the Madame keeps her office, and her favourite pets. It is clean, and scented by the flowers about the place. The bed itself, for there is always a bed, is covered in soft pink curtains, pulled back and tied with silver ribbon. There are no windows, and no fireplace.
“Only the best for the princess, eh? You’re lucky I did the Madame a favour.”
He has already pulled off his tunic, and sits upon the bed, pulling you onto him so your legs wrap around his waist,
“What did you do?”
“Killed her husband.”
You look up at him, pouting slightly.
“Why?”
“Because-” In an instant, his great body is atop of you, and you are slammed against the fabric of the bed. The thing itself creaks. “Your grandfather told me to.”
Gregor’s lips find your neck, his facial hair tickles against the skin, and you let yourself laugh,
“And you do everything the great Lord Tywin tells you to?”
The response you get is a grunt, and a squeal from your own lips when he pulls you closer toward him. You gain a kiss upon the lips for this intrusion.
“I do whilst I’ve his pretty granddaughter in a whorehouse.”
As he continues to put kisses on your exposed skin, travelling almost as low as your breast, you suddenly realise you’ve found yourself in an unusual position of power. In a whorehouse, on your back, with a man double your weight and at least a foot taller than you upon you. This is the power your mother has told you a woman holds.
“His pretty granddaughter, your princess. You should be serving me.”
You tilt your head away so he cannot see the smile which graces your face. He merely hums, near thoughtfully. Once again, you are lifted from below him, and put back on the throne you’ve made from his thighs.
“How does my princess want served, then?”
His free hand finds yours, and you play with it like a child might a shiny thing they find upon the pavement.
“Your fingers.”
“Aye, that’s a good plan,” He shakes his hand free from yours with little effort, it joins with the other at the small of your back, and poor Dana’s dress is torn to rags, leaving you in your little nightdress, the front having been pulled down completely, exposing your breasts to him. He says nothing. “Better get you prepared first, can’t bring you back split like a chicken, can I?”
“Are you… that big?”
Your eyes widen at your own speech, how utterly unashamed you can be. There is little more you can do to sully your reputation at this point than to actually have the man inside of you, and you aren’t completely sure you won’t. But he finds some amusement in your words, grasping you gently, pulling you closer toward him.
“All of me is big, Princess.”
He is right, his hands are each the size of your face, if not bigger. His height is something known and feared by every man, woman and child in the Seven Kingdoms, and you sit delicately on his lap, growing increasingly excited by the ideas of what he might do to you.
One of those big hands grazes your bare arse underneath your nightdress, even the gentlest squeeze, with his strength, turns into a reasonably harsh pinch. You squeak,
“Ow!”
Gregor tuts,
“If that hurts you, Princess, I doubt you’re ready for the next bit.”
It travels back down, across your thigh, and sets itself, with the amount of grace you expect from Gregor, just shy of your cunt. He helps you settle in a more comfortable position, and pushes his middle finger into you. It hurts, even his fingers are enormous, far greater than your own, but it feels wonderful. You must be whimpering, because he shushes you with kisses, moving slowly and carefully, not daring to give you another one.
A second has you sobbing, quietly begging for him to stop. He won’t, you know that, and most of you doesn’t want him to.
By the time he considers you ‘adequately prepared’, you are hardly sure of your own name, let alone anything more complicated. You are covered in sweat, a scarlet blush across your whole face, and an overwhelming sense that you should probably be quite ashamed of yourself.
Gregor sets you down from his lap, onto the bed. You hope the night’s activities aren’t over, you do so want what you were certain he’d give you. He seems to notice, a smile graces his face.
“Just a minute, Princess,” He sounds almost scolding, like a schoolmaster, “Can’t fuck you dressed, can I?”
“I… Suppose not, no.”
Whilst you still have some shred of dignity, even if your nightdress clings to the sweat on your skin, and leaves next to nothing to anyone’s imagination, Gregor strips himself down to his entirety. Every scar, every muscle of his is completely visible, and something about it completely delights you.
He almost laughs at how you gawk at him, eyes flicking between his legs, trying desperately not to show him you are, in fact, staring.
“Never seen a cock before?”
“Not… One I’m not directly related to, no.”
You are scooped back into his arms, onto your throne of flesh. Your Mountain bounces you just slightly, and you recall a nurse of yours doing the exact same thing at some point in your life. There is something oddly comforting about it.
He expects you to squeal and cry when it begins, when he pushes himself into you. And you do, just a little. There is a pressure you cannot quite explain, something eats at you from inside out, and your eyes fill up with pretty tears. He is there to make it better, of course, it is his duty to protect you.
Gregor is not the type of man to praise his woman, and he doesn’t. Not in words, at least. You cling to him, wrapped around his neck and whimpering into his shoulder, and he runs a hand up your clothed back in long, soothing motions. It does little to actually comfort you, but the thought behind it is nice. You are glad it’s this, and not the horror stories you’ve heard about your sworn guardian.
You know, in very limited detail, how a woman is supposed to give herself up to a man. You had thought it would hurt- That he would be rough, and you look down to see no blood, nor much of anything, his cock is hidden by the skirts of your nightdress. You wonder if that is enough to hide your sin from the gods.
“Alright, Princess?”
You cannot even look up to see his face, and you don’t know he’d want you to. Tears stream freely from your eyes, and all of you feels heavy, tired. You hope he’ll carry you back home.
“Nearly.”
The break in his voice does not escape you. At least you know what’s to happen.
And slowly, carefully, his hand on your back finds your thigh, and the one on your thigh crawls between your legs. You are already prepared, already overwhelmed, and just the slightest touch is enough to set you off again,
“Hold off, Princess,” Had you the strength, you would beg him not to stop. Thankfully, he doesn’t, “Just one minute.”
And you try, but it is just too much for you to handle. You attempt to tell him, to give him some warning, but he knows.
He comes with a great roar, something that makes you jump. Gregor holds you tight enough to bruise, a reminder of his power, of how vulnerable you actually are, but you hardly care.
Despite the very obvious plug between your legs, his seed still seeps out of you, onto your nice nightdress, onto him. You hadn’t thought it’d be so messy, but it does make some sense. You mutter something unintelligible, and he kisses your forehead. The world is good, and you wonder if anyone would find out should you make this a regular occurrence.
You awake the next morning in a different, more sensible nightdress. You smell clean, like lavender soap, like he’s had one of your ladies bathe you at some point. One enters with a breakfast tray, as per usual, and you pretend not to notice how she avoids your gaze. The two who help you dress are as chatty as usual. The older woman is as bubbly as ever, and her little assistant couldn’t frighten a sparrow if she wanted.
Gregor is usually standing outside when you emerge in the mornings. Today, it is Ser Meryn Trant. Not unusual, and nothing for concern; you assume Gregor has come down with a headache again. He suffers from them quite frequently, especially so in the hottest months.
Neither of you say anything, not until you’ve crawled down the steps and gotten to the throne room. Your muscles still ache, and your legs feel strange to walk upon, a night of being bent and thrown in any direction.
Tywin and Cersei are on either side of the throne; your mother sits, your grandfather stands. Your brother is tactfully in the corner, with his dog behind him. And the way Sandor looks at you, with undisguised disgust, you realise- they know.
Tywin’s face is still, your mother looks as though she might boil up at any given moment. The throne is empty, and you wonder where your father has gone.
“Princess,” It is Varys who speaks. Your mother’s little songbird, with nothing better to do than scour the kingdom for rumour, “We had heard some… rumours regarding your activities last night with Ser Gregor.”
You realise, this is your time to shine. You have always been dramatic, always good at making up little stories. You can fool your grandfather, you’ve always been able to. And if Lord Tywin is convinced, the rest of them shall follow; no-one doubts the Hand.
“W-What rumours, my lord?”
Cersei rolls her eyes. Your mother stands, moving down from the raised steps of the throne, facing you,
“You know what rumours. You were seen in a brothel last night, far past the time you should have been abed, and he carried you back half-naked. Do you deny it, Daughter?”
“I…”
You look between those in the throne room: your brother in the corner, his dog avoiding your gaze; Varys, and Littlefinger, your mother. Your gaze lands on Ser Meryn.
“Ser Gregor does not guard me at night.” You look at your grandfather, a sudden realisation coming upon you. “He is my personal guard, Grandfather, the Kingsguard have night duty. He needs to be rested for the day.”
Cersei flicks her head to Tywin, who appears to be thinking quite deeply,
“That is true, Ser Gregor has yet to be granted the white cloak.”
“Do you doubt my virtue, Grandfather? You know I would not lie on such matters, I am a princess, not a tavern wench.”
And he sighs, and you know that you’ve won him over,
“It is possible Ser Gregor entertained a woman of a- Similar appearance. The princess is not so foolish as to risk rumours of her purity, unlike some.”
A comment about your mother. You see Sandor smirk at it.
You are returned back to your bedchamber, and go about your day. The rumours are put aside, and it is decided that Gregor entertained a whore that night, no matter what anyone claims. There are plenty of men who take silver-haired whores as Targaryens, after all, there is hardly a difference with the new line of regency.
Later, you are put in front of your father after supper. He’s heard, of course, through Varys, or Tywin or Cersei, or all of the above. Not that it matters.
Robert is arse-deep in his cups, and he doesn’t show any sign of stopping. Your father wraps one of his great hands around your shoulders,
“Did you fuck him, then?”
And there is no answer you can give him but the truth.
“Aye, Father, I did.”
Robert spends the rest of the evening laughing uncontrollably, getting suitably drunk. Your nights with Gregor confine themselves to your rooms, or to a variety of places where a princess would not be so out of place. Everyone knows, and no one says a word. And one day, when your husband of a cushy, lordly house gives you child after child, no one shall say a word when they each emerge taller than the next, when their resemblance is shockingly similar to your personal guard, and not their supposed father.
Out of all the ASOIAF characters that want Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane is the ONLY ONE that HATES HIMSELF for it! Unlike SO MANY other men in this series {who will see someone they like and take them with no hesitation, and zero regard to that desired person and everyone else around them}, from the moment Sandor laid his Stark like grey eyes on her, and every blessed second he had with her after that, he actually FOUGHT those desires {which were made worse by his alcoholism}! He KNOWS Sansa is far too young for him, far too sweet for him, and miles above his station! He's SEEN how the world treats people like her! And most importantly, Sandor WAS HER!
Like Sansa, Sandor thought his life would be like the songs. While Sansa dreamt of being some beautiful, brave, gentle, and strong man's Lady or Queen and then be the mother of his children, Sandor dreamt of being a knight. They trusted too much, wanted to be loved by everyone, and had their lives shattered in the most DEVASTATING ways. And while their traumas affect them differently, she's still the ONLY one on the entire planet that TRULY understands him {you could argue that Arya *Sansa's little sister* does too, but not as much as Sansa}. And while Sandor grew to HATE everything about knights, the songs, etc, part of him still WANTS to be the kind of hero that he and Sansa used to love. And despite his many flaws, he's actually one of the very few "true knights" in the series.
And so, unlike those many men, Sandor fought his feelings for Sansa by trying to DISTANCE HIMSELF FROM HER. He stayed close enough to be sweet to her and protect her, of course, but also tried to make himself look as awful as possible. Said lots of cruel and lewd things, called her Little Bird, Child, Girl, etc instead of My Lady, Lady Sansa, Lady Stark, or just Sansa. And even after she REJECTED HIM, he also reminded a group of men {as well as himself} who were speaking ill of Sansa that not only is Sansa a LADY, but a PROPER LITTLE LADY. But to his great surprise and even greater despair, instead of watching her run for her life like everyone else does, all of his attempts to preserve what little honor they have left, only make {sadly just Book} Sansa all but CLING TO HIM like a damn FACEHUGGER.
Sadly, there were a few times {mainly in the books} where Sandor slipped up {mainly while he was drunk, which was almost the whole time they knew each other} and almost turned into Gregor {Sandor's older brother that's like ten to twenty million times worse} and all of those other men. He checked Sansa out, made some sexual comments about her still growing body, grabbed her too tight, broke in her room while she wasn't there and slept in her empty bed, pinned her to her bed at knifepoint, allegedly led a raping and killing spree at Saltpans, and admitted to Arya that he regrets not raping Sansa and tearing her heart out before he reluctantly left King's Landing without her.
But as disappointing as it sounds, Sandor {who again was almost always insanely drunk during those times} realized what he was doing, quickly stopped, and then went back to being what she REALLY needed at that time: Her guardian angel. Her dearest true knight. {I know, I know! "The bare minimum!", "The bar is in hell!", but Sansa and all the other girls and women in this series are BARELY even getting that!} He's innocent of what happened at Saltpans {it was another huge man, Rorge, who somehow got his grubby paws on Sandor's famous Hound helmet, and then wore it during the spree}. Also, Sandor's "confession" to Arya was made while he was literally DYING from some injuries he sustained while fighting that same group of men that were speaking ill of Sansa {which in my mind was Sandor trying to kill himself cause he just learned that the one he loves most married a man that they hated *and for good reason*, is accused of killing a king that they hated *and for good reason*, and is now on the run} and was hoping to be PUT OUT OF HIS MISERY. And since Arya didn't want to, he said awful things that he DID NOT MEAN FOR EVEN A MILLISECOND, things he KNEW would finally get her to change her mind, only for it to backfire on him BIG TIME.
While everyone else that wants Sansa Stark only wants her for her CLAIM, her STOLEN ANCESTRAL HOME, and her STILL DEVELOPING WOMB, Sandor Clegane is the ONLY ONE among them that wants Sansa because he actually LOVES HER. And though he many never know that Sansa DOES love him back {the way Sansa talks about Sandor in her chapters is DEFINITELY NOT out of hatred, though it would be understandable if it was. And if I told y'all to take a shot every time Sandor is mentioned in Sansa's chapters, y'all would die of alcohol poisoning} and get to be with her in that way, just seeing her and protecting her one last time would probably be enough for him. And if it isn't, well, then he'll probably just leave her again {either the normal way or through dying}. Because the only thing WORSE than never ending up with Sansa Stark is turning into his older brother.
