( Sandor Clegane hates this city more than any other place he's ever fucking been. More than King's Landing, which is a bloody accomplishment all on its own. There's lava everywhere, everything's on fucking fire, and he's been severely tempted to just turn the fuck around and leave everyone else to it. Doesn't matter that some insane fools literally bathe in the magma, that it's apparently touchable. You won't catch him within a dozen paces of it. Fuck that.
Featherhive, by comparison, is largely a relief. Nothing appears to be smoking, or smoldering, or blazing. Just rocks and overgrowth. He can live with that.
Nobody warned him about the fucking birds. He paid them no mind at first, as they took to landing on perches just overhead and out of reach. Ignored them, the way he's steadfastly ignoring the presence of another person a few meters away moving through the brush like a giant stalking cat.
But then the fucking things open up their beaks and begin to talk.
A melodic, proper Lord's speech rolls out of the first, "I owe you my life, ser." Followed by a slightly squawkier version of his own, "I'm no ser."
An only slightly more feminine voice, "I have no wish to kill you, ser." His own voice again, "I'm not a knight."
He stops in his tracks, staring. How the fuck are they doing that?
A very gentle, very sad lady's voice, "Please, ser-" Himself again, "Ser?! I'm a dog, remember? The king's dog."
Joffrey's voice follows with a quick flurry of, "Come, dog. Away with you, dog, you're scaring my lady. Good dog. Dog, I command you to go back out there and fight!"
In a flash of ire, he ducks down to snatch up a rock and hurls it at the beast. )
ɢᴇʀᴀʟᴛ
( Sandor Clegane hates this city more than any other place he's ever fucking been. More than King's Landing, which is a bloody accomplishment all on its own. There's lava everywhere, everything's on fucking fire, and he's been severely tempted to just turn the fuck around and leave everyone else to it. Doesn't matter that some insane fools literally bathe in the magma, that it's apparently touchable. You won't catch him within a dozen paces of it. Fuck that.
Featherhive, by comparison, is largely a relief. Nothing appears to be smoking, or smoldering, or blazing. Just rocks and overgrowth. He can live with that.
Nobody warned him about the fucking birds. He paid them no mind at first, as they took to landing on perches just overhead and out of reach. Ignored them, the way he's steadfastly ignoring the presence of another person a few meters away moving through the brush like a giant stalking cat.
But then the fucking things open up their beaks and begin to talk.
A melodic, proper Lord's speech rolls out of the first, "I owe you my life, ser."
Followed by a slightly squawkier version of his own, "I'm no ser."
An only slightly more feminine voice, "I have no wish to kill you, ser."
His own voice again, "I'm not a knight."
He stops in his tracks, staring. How the fuck are they doing that?
A very gentle, very sad lady's voice, "Please, ser-"
Himself again, "Ser?! I'm a dog, remember? The king's dog."
Joffrey's voice follows with a quick flurry of, "Come, dog. Away with you, dog, you're scaring my lady. Good dog. Dog, I command you to go back out there and fight!"
In a flash of ire, he ducks down to snatch up a rock and hurls it at the beast. )
Fuck off, you stupid whore!