Sandor watched from the doorway, his own niece now in his care, playing with toys as if her father weren’t The Mountain, the killer of her own mother.

he swore that he didn’t like her, didn’t care about being a good guardian to the small girl, but he saw his deceased sister within her- saw himself, even.

“Girl, what are you doing?” he spoke up, stoic as ever but visibly softer with his niece, his girl. the only good Clegane.