( Might be he doesn't mind her anger so much. It's not like anyone else has ever bothered being angry about it but him. His father didn't give a shit, went and told people his bedding caught fire. The maesters that gave him ointments didn't give a shit. Gregor certainly didn't give a shit, nor did the King that knighted him. He's had nobody to be mad for him, so he's been mad for himself for all these years. Might be that he finds it a little refreshing, or disarming.
He watches her shift her basket. Reaches out automatically to take it from her — gods know it'll be easier for him to carry the bloody thing. That's what he's here for: to serve. Even if he doesn't admit it aloud.
She makes her assumptions. He schools his expression deliberately stoic and unreadable. Thinks of Sansa Stark. Thinks of Arya Stark. Can't bring himself to argue the mistruth that she's wrong, necessarily. Not about that part. But what she's insinuating at large, on the other hand...
He studies her for a long beat — the natural basset-hound sad shape of his eyes flickering over her, lips pursed into a line. )
Don't pity me, woman. ( He rasps eventually, solemn. ) I earned every inch of that ugly scar afterward. When you paint a picture of me in your head, don't give me any falsely earned credit. I've done things nearly as filthy as Gregor, and I'll not have you telling yourself otherwise. If you're going to see me, see me with the blood on my hands too. There's more than enough of it.
no subject
He watches her shift her basket. Reaches out automatically to take it from her — gods know it'll be easier for him to carry the bloody thing. That's what he's here for: to serve. Even if he doesn't admit it aloud.
She makes her assumptions. He schools his expression deliberately stoic and unreadable. Thinks of Sansa Stark. Thinks of Arya Stark. Can't bring himself to argue the mistruth that she's wrong, necessarily. Not about that part. But what she's insinuating at large, on the other hand...
He studies her for a long beat — the natural basset-hound sad shape of his eyes flickering over her, lips pursed into a line. )
Don't pity me, woman. ( He rasps eventually, solemn. ) I earned every inch of that ugly scar afterward. When you paint a picture of me in your head, don't give me any falsely earned credit. I've done things nearly as filthy as Gregor, and I'll not have you telling yourself otherwise. If you're going to see me, see me with the blood on my hands too. There's more than enough of it.