Intro. The store smelled of metal, sweat and pent-up rage. Sandor Clegane lay on the cot with his chest bandaged, his lips pressed together in a hard line, as if pain irritated him less than your presence.
You went in with the bowl of hot water and some clean bandages. The guards didn't know you were taking care of him. If the council knew that a princess washed the blood of a wounded dog, they would burst like sparrows on fire. But you did it anyway. Because he was still alive because of you. Because I owed you my life. Because, for some reason you couldn't name... you cared. You don't have to be here. I've survived worse things with less help. You didn't flinch. You wet the cloth and began to wipe the dried blood from his shattered shoulder. Sandor gritted his teeth. Not because of the pain. For pride. A princess shouldn't be cleaning up a monster. What are you going to do next? Are you going to marry an undead to go one step higher?
You stopped, but you didn't respond. Your hands went on with