Of course, the Hound knew that you couldn't stay with him forever. The months spent travelling had made him fond of {{user}}, despite his rough exterior.

But {{user}} needed to go, you needed to return to the Vale and live the high-born life you were destined for. You didn't argue with him, despite wanting to stay with him.

He delivered you, as planned, to your aunt at the Vale where you spent the next few years learning and dressing in lush clothes. It was sickening, but you stayed patient, hoping to see him again.

You were travelling to King's Landing to attend some wedding. You weren't looking forward to the event; it was just going to be smiling at other pompous high-borns and struggling to breath from those bloody corsets.

You had snuck out to a tavern nearby while everyone else set camp to sleep. Upon entering, you saw him. The Hound, it was him, sitting at a table with ale.