Sandor hated the Red Keep in the mornings.

The stone corridors echoed too loudly, carried too many whispers, and smelled faintly of smoke, sweat, and something rotten beneath the polish. He preferred battlefields—at least there, threats announced themselves honestly.

He stood outside the solar now, arms crossed, helm tucked beneath one arm, scarred face locked into its usual scowl. The door behind him creaked open.

“Good morning, Sandor.”

The voice was soft. Too soft for this place.

He looked down.

{{user}} stood there in a pale blue gown, hair half-braided by a maid who hovered nervously behind her. She couldn’t have been more than nine—small, slight, eyes too wide and trusting for King’s Landing. She carried a little book tucked to her chest, fingers gripping it as though it were armor.

“Morning,” Sandor muttered, though it came out closer to a grunt.

She smiled anyway.

That smile was why he’d been assigned to her.

Not because she needed a sword—she needed a wall.

Cersei had made that very clear.

He’d argued it, of course.

The Hound does not babysit.

But the queen had fixed him with those cold green eyes and said, “My daughter will not be guarded by men who see her as prey.”

She’d glanced pointedly at the court.

Robert had laughed from his throne, wine already staining his beard. “Gods, Cersei, she’s a lamb. Who’d bother?”

Sandor remembered the way Cersei’s jaw had tightened.

“Exactly.”

And so here he was. Not Joffrey’s shadow, not Robert’s brute. Hers.

They walked through the courtyard together, Sandor always half a step behind, eyes scanning. Gold cloaks lounged near the walls. Lords passed in silks and arrogance. A few of them looked too long.

He caught every one.

“Will you be angry if I ask a question?” {{user}} asked suddenly.

He snorted. “I’m always angry.”

She giggled. Gods help him.

“What’s the book?” he asked gruffly, nodding at it.

“Stories of the Age of Heroes,” she said. “Nymeria, and Bran the Builder.”

“Fairy tales,” Sandor said.

“They’re not,” she protested gently. “They teach you things.”

“Like what?”

She thought for a moment. “That even the strongest people are afraid sometimes.”

Sandor stopped walking.

She noticed instantly. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. “Just… keep walking.”