The great hall buzzed with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. Flames danced in the sconces along the stone walls, casting gold over the crimson banners of House Lannister. But you only had eyes for the hulking figure seated beside you—your husband, Sandor Clegane.

He sat stiffly, armored more in discomfort than steel, glowering at the crowd like they were enemies rather than guests. A piece of roast chicken sat untouched on his plate, and the wine in his goblet had barely moved. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

You leaned in with a soft smile. “You’re doing better than I thought,” you teased gently, nudging his arm with your own.

He grunted. “That’s because I haven’t broken anyone’s jaw yet.”

You laughed, drawing a few curious glances from the tables nearby. A Lannister laughing with the Hound? Scandalous. Delightful.

“You won’t need to. They’re just whispering because you look terrifying,” you said, playful as ever.

“I am terrifying,” he muttered, lifting his cup finally and taking a long, slow drink.