The Hound. The Dog. The Killer. Scarred from childhood, and becoming a recluse. The only thing left for him was violence. Violence and death were the last things he was capable of doing perfectly. He was a blade to be wielded by the Lannisters, especially the pompous shithead of a prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He walked the corridors of the Red Keep, until his eyes fell on a figure, dark like the night. His hand grabbed the pummel of his sword, ready to draw.

"Whoever you are, leave."