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Out Of This World

Chapter Text

"Jeez, I think it's gonna rain, boss," Trisha murmured to Bob the director when he had called cut on the scene they were currently filming, she eyed the sky with suspicion and huffed quietly. They were at an outdoor set for a scene where Sandor Clegane and the Brotherhood Without Banners were going through the icy deserts of grey-lit Scotland, all of them on the backs of anxious horses.

"It'll be fine, Trisha. We just need to nail this scene but those damn horses aren't settling down," Bob sighed in response, calling for the cast to get back onto the mark that was in the line of sight of the camera. Suddenly, the sky began to shake and grumble, the rain suddenly pouring down upon the scene around them.

Everyone behind the camera stepped out from the protection of the gazebo and looked up to the sky with squinted eyes, hands pressed to their foreheads to get a proper view of the clouds beginning to swirl with seas of lighting and the reasoning for dread.

"Alright, everyone, that's a wrap. We'll continue filming tomorrow at dawn."

Everyone hailed their agreements to the director and they begin to pack up their gear, cameras, rigs. In an instant, a lightning strike lands near the horses which startle them. They rear up, almost knocking the cast of men off their saddles, a chorus of alarmed sounds come from everyone that is abruptly unsettled by the sight before them. With the lightning beginning to strike down around them, the horses jump up and down from their hind legs in fear.

"No time for games, hurry up! Get everything packed, get the minders to the horses and let's get out of here! Trisha–" the director yelled out to his assistant, "I want you to do the rounds and make sure everyone's safe and packed up, can you do that?"

He knew she was capable of doing it, but the look of fright on her face from the commotion unraveling around them had sprouted a seed of doubt in his mind. "Yes, of course, I'll get right on it," she assured him as she began to zip up her puffer jacket, pulling a beanie from out of her pocket and tugging it on to her head before leaving the safety of the gazebo and venturing into the hailing rain to go around the set.

Stomping around the crunchy snow-laden ground, she looked around and saw all the staff running all over the place to make sure they had secured all their gear. When she had approached them to make sure they were packing their things away safely, they all greeted her warmly despite what was happening around them, the sky cracking with thunder and lightning smashing into the ground.

Trisha spun away from Bob after informing him that she'd checked on the staff and made sure they were fine, she glanced around the darkening icy desert and spotted someone in the ice-cold open with heavy fur gear, searching the ground.

She scampered to them, her gloved hands shoved in her pockets and her boots crunching the snow beneath her feet. "Are you okay?" She asked, her eyes dropping to the person's leather boot-clad feet spinning in circles, panicking as they searched the snow.

"Yeah, I'm fine but that bloody horse damn near knocked me on my arse and something fell out of my pocket so I'm just trying to look for it," they responded in a thick Scottish accent, Trisha knew in an instant that it was Rory McCann, the Sandor Clegane actor.

Trisha licked her cold lips, jumping on the spot to maintain heat, "Well, what was it? I'll help," she said to him but he shook his head.

"No, no. It's my fault, I should've left it in my trailer but I didn't so... Don't worry about it, lass, it's just a silly little locket–"

"Lockets are infamously important items, let me help you," Trisha insisted with a smile. He hesitated for a moment but with a sigh, he gave her a nod, continuing to walk around slowly with his eyes trained on the ground.

They searched the ground in the plummeting rain for a few minutes but came out with nothing. "Aye, we best get out of here, this rain is shit so I'll just look for it tomorrow, but thank you for your help, Trisha, I really appreciate it."

Just then, as she was about to respond, lightning had struck right next to them and she jumped into his arms with a screech. She huffed and puffed with widened eyes and then she laughed.

"Don't worry about it, man, let's just get out of here. I can't stand this lightning stuff anymore," Trisha said to him quickly and he chuckled in agreement. She got out of his arms as quickly as she had jumped into them and began skittering back to the trucks and trailers as fast as she could, desperate to get out of the hold of the cold and into something warm.

Trisha had most definitely left Rory behind, but he was a big guy and was able to handle himself, he didn't need her help to get back to his trailer so she continued to run as quickly and safely as she could on the slippery ice.

Another lightning bolt had struck down behind her and she winced until she heard a loud groan and a thump, she immediately turned to look over her shoulder and her heart stopped. Rory was on the ground and so was something else, something just as large as he was.

Trisha stopped in her path and turned completely and carefully ran to where he was. Was her mind playing tricks on her or did Rory McCann just get struck by lightning?

"Help! Someone, help!" Trisha screamed out as she ran as quickly as she could towards the large Scotsman lying frozen on the ground. She whipped her head around to see if anyone had heard her and through the curtains of rain, she could see three men looking out to where she was and they were running in her direction.

She dropped on her knees beside him, her knees aching and becoming numb on the ice. He was lying face up and his burn scar makeup was beginning to peel off with burned edges and she then looked beside him to see the lumpy coat of fur with hair peeking from beneath it. It was just as large as Rory was and she swore that it was a person, but who on earth could that be? There was no one else out in this open desert with them and in a split second, this thing just happened to appear right next to him?

The young girl tucked her hand under his head and lifted it to rest on her lap. She leaned over him so the rain wasn't hitting his face and she gently tapped his cheek to rouse him which made him cough and groan. He brought his hand to his head and hissed in pain. "Careful, Rory," she urged him calmly, "Someone, help me! We need to get him out of here!" Trisha screamed out once again and the three people that had heard her call were almost near.

The large Scotsman was beginning to sit up and he looked next to him to see this large, furry thing lying beside them and he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

The rain was beginning to slow down to a light drizzle and the clouds were becoming lighter as the lightning had seemed to stop.

"What is that?" He murmured and he rolled over so he was kneeling beside Trisha, they shared a look of confusion and surprise.

"I-I don't know, it just... I don't know, are you okay?" she said to him urgently and he nodded, continuing to rub the back of his head. Trisha truly had no idea of what that thing was in front of them and they both reached out their hands to push at the thing lying on the ground.

That thing groaned and Trisha's heartbeat began to speed up, pulling back her hand as if it had been burnt. She looked back at Rory and his mouth was agape, his chest moving up and down quickly.

The three men that had arrived were assistants that Trisha knew from around the sets of the show and they all knelt down beside Rory and herself, looking at the thing on the ground before them.

"Who is that?" One of them said curiously. It was Ricky, a kind, blue-haired that primarily helps the cameramen. It suddenly occurred to both Rory and Trisha that whatever was in front of them was a person, though the draped cloak had made it look like an accumulation of something nasty, akin to that of a drowned bear.

"I don't know, I think Rory was, um... Struck by lightning and this thing– this person just... It just appeared out of nowhere!" Trisha said frustratedly, not entirely understanding the words that had just left her mouth.

"Jesus Christ," Ricky muttered and Trisha couldn't agree more.

"You sure it's not someone else?" Kevin, the blond assistant, questioned and Trisha rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm sure, everyone's in their trailers ready to go, I was out here helping Rory look for something but we couldn't find it. There's no one else out here," she explained and they nodded in understanding.

"Let's flip 'em over then," Blake, the black-haired assistant, quipped and they all looked at each other with unease. "On 3," Rory said and he began to count down as everyone tucked their hands under the fur cloak and on 3, they all used their strength to flip this thing over except...

It wasn't a thing.

It was a person.

But not just any person.

Trisha squealed and leaped back, her eyes wide with disbelief and the others followed her suit, all frightened of what they had just revealed to themselves.

It looked like Rory. Or his twin, it seemed like. It was wearing the exact things he was wearing and he was sporting the same burn scar on his face.

"What the fuck?" Rory muttered and he stood to his feet in an instant, "Is this some sort of joke? What is this?" He questioned angrily and then he knelt closer to the person on the ice in front of them.

"I don't know!"

"I can't... I don't know what this is!"

The assistants muttered amongst each other.

"What on Earth?" Trisha murmured to herself in fear and shock. She reached out her hand and poked a gloved finger against the wet cheek of the person right in front of her.

"Don't!" She heard one of the assistant's protest and as soon as she'd prodded at the flesh of this strange person, they had raised their arm and taken a firm grip on her wrist. Trisha screamed loudly and tried to yank her arm back but it was no use, it pulled her back and she tumbled on top of it – on top of him.

He grunted angrily, and rolled over on top of her and stood to his feet, pulling Trisha up with him. He swiftly pulled the frightened girls back to his chest, crossing an arm over her chest and restraining her arms, he pulled out a dagger from the sheath on his hip, pressing the blade to her throat.

"Oh my God!" Trisha yelped, the three assistants in front of her and Rory were wide-eyed with shock as they looked at the man that had the young girl in his grip.

Rory huffed angrily, "Let her go!" He demanded but the man holding her didn't budge, and neither did the blade to her throat.

"Who are you?" The man holding her yelled out to the men standing in front of them, he roughly shook her which urged the men to give him an answer

"W-We're the staff! We're the staff, now tell us who you are!" The blue-haired assistant said quickly and loudly, his jaw stuttering. It was either very clear who this man really was or it was the nastiest prank in the world, and as the blade pressed to her throat, it didn't feel very much like a prank.

The man holding Trisha in his grip was a carbon copy of Rory, he had the same height, build and voice as Rory and it frightened Trisha to her core, except his accent was different; it was a Northern English accent, whereas Rory’s was Scottish. Rory was a kind, witty gentleman and she never thought that off of the set he would behave like this, it was like the man holding her was Sandor Clegane in real life. If only.

"I'm the Hound," the man behind her seethed, every word dripping with anger.

Trisha, Rory and the assistants were in shock, did they hear what he said correctly? Despite hearing what she heard, it was the last of her concerns as the blade pressed to her neck was beginning to piercing her skin.

"Please... Please, just let me go!" Trisha whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands clasping at his arm crossed over her chest.

"Let the lass go," Rory pleaded, his expression written with nothing but dread.

"Aye, I'll let the girl go," the Hound said nonchalantly while he pulled the dagger back, throwing Trisha to the ground who used her gloved hands to try and halt her sliding on the ice while simultaneously trying to crawl to where Rory and the other men were.

The assistants helped to stand her up and they all backed away as the Hound dropped the dagger and pulled out his sword in one swift motion. Rory's eyebrows furrowed and his instant reaction was to pull out his own sword.

"Stop, please!" Trisha cried out and the two giant men both looked at her then back to each other.

Rory was breathing intensely, both hands gripped to the handle of his sword and both feet in a defensive stance. "Get back to the trucks!" he yelled out to the four of them and the three assistants refused to argue, taking Trisha with them as they began to run back to the safety of the people.

Trisha ran with them, "We need to get help!" she shouted to them and they agreed. She ripped off her gloves because her hands were beginning to sweat which made her irrationally upset.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that?!" The blue-haired boy screeched, his chest rising up and down quickly.

"I don't know but we need to get help!" Trisha responded, and finally, they had arrived back to the empty set and Bob, the director, was waiting by one of the waiting trucks. Trisha ran to him quickly and grabbed a hold of his shoulders, and before he could question her, she was crying and breathing erratically. "We need to get security, now!"

Bob frowned and his grey eyes left her tear-streaked face and gazed out into the icy deserts to see two men sword fighting in the distance. "Fucking hell– Security!" The director shouted out and four men in uniform promptly arrived at his side, "Go out there now and sort that shit out!" he commanded, pointing a finger towards the men fighting on the ice and they nodded, taking their leave and rushing out to the violent scene unfolding out in the cold open.

"Trisha, who is that? Who's out there?" Bob asked his assistant sternly and she sobbed.

"It's Rory and– and the... The–"

"Out with it, Trisha! Who else is out there?" he questioned her with a serious tone in his voice.

"It's the fucking Hound!" his frightened assistant bellowed, dropping to her knees in the mud and grabbing at her throat.

"He put a knife to my throat, he tried to kill me!"


"No, you idiot! The fucking Hound!" Trisha screamed, continuing to rub at her neck. She pulled her hand back to see her red-stained palms. She squeezed her eyes closed and wept a bit more, spit dribbling down her chin which she wiped away with the sleeve of her jacket.

The Hound had lightly sliced her flesh with his rusted dagger and had drawn blood, it’d made her shake with fear.

"They're the same person, Trisha," Bob said to her as he knelt down beside her and she cried once more, "No they're not, clearly there are two people out there!" she insisted.

Shaking like a leaf, she placed a hand on Bob's knee and tried her best to suppress a sob. "Just wait and see," Trisha murmured quietly, her eyes narrowed on Bob and he was taken aback. She looked out once more to the icy deserts but couldn't see properly through her teary gaze.

Trisha cried deliriously and grabbed at her throat once more, trying to get a feel of just how large the cut was. "He cut me... I can't believe that psychopath actually cut me, oh my god, he almost killed me," she whispered to herself between quiet cries, rocking herself back and forth in a poor attempt at self-comfort. 

Bob reached out to her and took her own hands away from her neck and inspected the cut closely, his eyes widening at the wide but shallow slice in her skin. "Someone, get me a medic, now!" he shouted and someone in the background heard his plea, rushing to find the paramedic.

Trisha could hear footsteps behind her and she wiped at her eyes with her sleeves in an attempt to clear her vision, she looked behind her to see the security men dragging a very large and very unconscious man.

She crawled back quickly and simpered, "Get him away from me!" she squealed, continuing to pull herself away from the knocked out man in the hands of the security guards.

"It's a'ight, lass, he's in a taser sleep... Mind you, it took three tasers to do the job, but he's out of it for now, " one of the security guards told her and she stopped her backward crawling, her chest rising and falling quickly at the sight of the unconscious giant.

Rory was limping back to her and he dropped down next to her, heaving loudly and grabbing at his calf. The burn scar make-up was half hanging off his face and he brought his hand up to pull the prosthetic latex off with an annoyed sigh. "Am I out of my fucking mind or did that really just happen?" Rory asked her, wincing and grabbing at his leg where there appeared to be a large gash.

Trisha was still shaken up and couldn't find the words or the heart to respond to him, so she meekly shook her head. The guards dropped the Hound and flipped him over so he was lying on his back, face-up, then they placed his hands in cuffs. Bob was wide-eyed as he leaned down to inspect his face, his hands hovering over the burn scar of his face and gently touching it.

"What in the world," he quietly said to himself, squinting at the edges of the scar on the Hound's face. A paramedic arrived and ignored the director and the guards with their comatose assailant, going straight to Trisha and Rory perched up next to each other on the ground.

The paramedic was a kind, middle-aged woman and was gentle in taking care of them both, though Trisha insisted on the woman tending to Rory's more serious injury, Rory refused, wanting Trisha to be treated first.

It was a tough and short battle of the niceties but Rory won, ending with Trisha tilting her head up to have her wound cleaned and bandaged as quickly as possible so Rory could finally have the wound on his calf treated. Rory pulled up his pant leg and he hissed as he did so, revealing the large cut down his right calf. "That mad fucker almost cut my leg off, " Rory muttered to Trisha and she gulped, her eyes falling to the unconscious man on the muddy ground near her.

Bob was prodding at the supposed burn scar on the face of the man beneath him, trying to pull the scar away but nothing happened. The tips of his fingers tried to rub at the edges of the scar where he was expecting a flap of latex to pull up but still, nothing happened. Bob left the Hound's side and came to sit next to Trisha and Rory, the Scotsman still having his wound tended to.

"That's... That's the Hound, like... That's a real burn scar," Bob said to himself mostly, but Trisha heard him and was suddenly filled with annoyance. "Yeah, no shit, that's the Hound," Trisha said meanly, then she clapped a hand over her mouth when she’d realized what she had just said to her boss.

"I-I'm, oh my god, I'm so sorry, I'm not really in the best headspace right now–" she tried to explain herself but Bob just raised his hand. "Trisha, it's fine, don't worry about it. I understand, " he assured her.

"Oh my God, and I called you an idiot! And I swore at you, I’m sorry–" she continued to speak in a rushed fashion, her shoulders trembling.

"Trisha, you need to calm down. I understand, there’s no need to apologize," Bob spoke softly, but she continued anyway.

"Jesus, I even swore at you earlier! I truly didn't mean any of that, just please, please forgive me–" Bob placed his hands on her arms and kindly looked her in the eyes, her shoulders slowly drooping with a tired sigh, "I'm just so confused right now, I don't know what's happening."

"Yeah, neither do I," Bob said, putting his hands down and they both sighed and looked at the man lying in the mud only meters away.

"Argh! Cocksucking fanny shit!" Rory grumbled out quickly with his eyes squeezed shut as the paramedic sanitized his wound. Trisha and Bob looked on sympathetically, a frown falling over their faces.

The grey-haired director exhaled noisily, a hand swiping over his mouth. "This is unreal."

Trisha hung her head low and could feel the sting of the cut on her neck, "He feels real," she said quietly, "everything he did to us was real. He is flesh and bone, he is a work of fiction come to life and he almost killed us. He's not a real person but he's... He's real, somehow, and he's here with us now."

A moment of silence passed over them, each of them trying to fathom what had just happened and Trisha slowly went over the details that occurred from the moment she went out to help Rory find his locket to the moment she came rushing to the director for help, with Rory's confirmations being raised every second or two. Bob listened tentatively, trying to picture the events in his mind but there was still no possible way he could figure out as to how this carbon copy of Rory, this carbon copy of The Hound, had found its way out to them in the outbacks of Scotland.

"Maybe it's the work of the God of Thunder, Taranis." Rory randomly quipped up.

"And why would the Celtic God of Thunder want to strike you with lightning and bring a fictional character to life?" Bob questioned Rory with furrowed brows, his grey eyes still planted on the very unconscious Hound.

Rory shrugged and scratched his beard, "the Gods are always such mysterious folk, don't you think?"

Trisha pursed her lips, her legs pulled to her chest and her chin resting on her knees, "Mysterious assholes," she quietly spoke to herself, though Rory's chuckle told her that he had heard her.

"Right you are, girl," he spoke softly, patting at the tourniquet wrapped around his calf.

"I think we have to call George," Trisha said, voicing the thought that had suddenly come to her mind.

"George? George who?" Bob asked her, his eyes landing on her.

"The George," Trisha said, "Sandor is practically his child if you think about it," she said to her boss, and she also realized that she had just called this fictional character by his real name. If the real name technically is real, seeing as he's not a real person.

"I suppose you're right," Bob said reluctantly, exhaling noisily and quickly getting to his feet.

"I'm getting my phone, stay put!" he said to Trisha and Rory.

Trisha scanned the area around her and realized that most of the trailers and trucks had left, they'd most likely gone back to the hotel where everyone was having a drink at the warm bar with the connected jazz lounge. The small girl could feel her heart longing for that warmth, but she knew she had to stay here to figure out just what the fuck had happened out here in the icy outbacks of grey-lit Scotland.

Chapter Text

"The craziest thing just happened!" Trisha heard Bob shouting in his trailer, and she scrunched her face with disdain. She'd almost wished he wasn't so loud, but as long as the message was getting across to the George R.R Martin then that's all that mattered.

Rory had since gotten up and went back to his own trailer because he and Trisha remembers this vividly, "doesn't get paid to have his arse sat in the mud for half an hour." she snorted at his witty statement and let him take his leave.

The security guards, on the other hand, had decided upon themselves to have a pair of them on watch and the other pair on call as they surveilled the areas around the emptied set. When Trisha saw two of the armed security guards leave, she felt a lot less safe even though her attacker was still unconscious and lying on the ground with his hands cuffed. She was on the brink of believing that he would still be dangerous, even in that state.

From the things she'd heard about The Hound, the very little things she had seen and read, he appeared to be an absolute beast of a man with no regard for anyone but himself or the person he was supposed to serve and protect at that time. It was very clear to her that she was most definitely not someone he had chosen to protect, the sting from the cut on her throat only serving to prove that theory.

Trisha whipped her head around behind her when she'd heard the director's trailer door open and he was in the midst of bidding his farewells, "Was that George?" she asked him and he nodded, putting his phone in his back pocket.

"Yeah, he said he'd be here tomorrow," her boss said to her, coming back over to sit next to her.

"And what'd he say about... The Hound?" Trisha questioned him and he sighed.

"He doesn't believe me but I told him that if it wasn't real, that it was a prank and that I was lying- that I would stop filming the episodes I'm enlisted for and have Dan and David find another director."

"Ah, yeah... Well, that's a big deal, y'know? George is bound to believe you, putting your job on the line for a prank isn't exactly what I think he'd expect, especially over something that sounds as ridiculous as this." Trisha said to him and Bob nodded in agreement.

"But now that we have to wait for tomorrow... What do you think we should do with him?" Bob asked her with his head tilted.

Trisha furrowed her brows and turned to him, "Personally, I wanna just leave him out here to freeze, but... God, I don't even know." she sighed deeply and pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling the intense throbbing of a headache from all the stress she was put under in the past hour.

"How do we even take him anywhere? Do we take him back to the hotel? How do we do that? And what do we do when he wakes up again?" Trisha said, clenching her jaw at the thought of having part of the responsibility of taking care of this violent fictional character. 

"I haven't a clue about harboring a non-existent yet existing fugitive," Bob said with a light laugh, eventually letting out a frustrated groan. Trisha could feel that on a spiritual level.

"Is this what a midlife crisis feels like?" Trisha asked with a snort, and Bob turned to her with a grin.

"A little bit, yeah," he said and they both got up together, devising a plan to smuggle the oaf of a man into the hotel.

Trisha stepped towards to The Hound, inching closer and hovering one of her feet to his shoulder and kicking him lightly. No reaction. She let out a shaky sigh and nodded to the security guards who had all come to surround the beast of a man to help her carry him to the closest trailer, which happened to be Bob's one.

Lucky him, she thought. With a great deal of effort, they hauled The Hound into Bob's trailer and grabbed some rope from their security cars to secure him to a chair and all but one of them left to take their cars back to the hotel, leaving you and Bob in the trailer and his driver in the front who hadn't a care in the world for the things that occurred in the living department of the trailer.

"What do we even tell the people who saw him? Tell them not to speak a word of it or..." Trisha asked Bob and he brought a hand to the back of his neck with a deep exhale through his nose. "Whether he disappears tomorrow or not, they saw what they saw and we won't be able to stop them from babbling to each other about what happened," Bob responded.

"Couldn't we at least try ask them not to talk about it?" She questioned the director.

"There's no point in it, really. We can't exactly keep track of them all. Just as long as they don't talk about it outside of work, we should be fine. There are clauses in their contracts restricting them from talking about stuff that happens behind the scenes, this debacle falls under that line."

They both turned to look at the comatose Sandor tied up in his chair in the back of his trailer, a guard at his side with a taser in hand. The guard looked up to them, "Better safe than sorry," he said with a tight smile, and Trisha smirked. "Safer than sorry indeed."

Trisha left them both to go to Rory's trailer after seeing their vehicle take leave to the hotel, knocking on his trailer door which opened almost immediately and stepping to the side to let her in. "How's the leg?" she asked him and he chuckled, "Never better" he responded.

She took a seat on the couch of his trailer and brought her legs up to her chest, hugging them to her for warmth and she exhaled, "Bob called George." 

"And what'd he have to say?" Rory asked her, rummaging through his bag at the other end of the trailer.

"He said he'll be here tomorrow to take a look for himself. Bob put his job on the line to prove that it wasn't a joke," she said to him and Rory turned to her and propped his leg up on a chair, pulling his pant leg up and softly patting his bandage, "If this is a joke, I'll quit in a fucking heartbeat." he said with an angry huff that alarmed the young girl next to him.

He saw the mild expression of fright on her face and he pulled his pant leg down, taking his leg off the chair and sighing. "Sorry, I didn't mean to come off like a grumpy asshole, I'm just a bit out of it at the moment," he spoke harshly, waving his hands around.

Trisha got up from her seat and placed a hand on his tense shoulder, "Rory, you were struck by lightning and some random deity was probably really bored and just decided to bring The Hound out of you, you don't have to apologize for anything," she said to him softly and he hung his head low. 

"It's just quite surreal, you know? He looks and sounds just like me... It's bloody crazy, I'll tell you that much."

"Yeah, I can't imagine what this is like for you. I do, however, wonder if you'll do anything for him, seeing as he's practically your twin." Trisha said with her lips pressed tightly together, leaning against a bench and waiting for his response.

"The only thing I want to do with him is kick him out and leave him out there to freeze," He said with disdain, and Trisha giggled in her throat. "It's funny you say that because I said the exact same thing to Bob." 

Rory grinned and his chest rumbled with a chuckle, "Of course you did, look what he did to you," he said, raising his hand and gently tucking it under her chin to see the bandage on her neck. Trisha rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away, her view falling to his leg. "I admit that it was the most terrifying moment of my life," Trisha said, "but you almost had your leg cut off so you outrank me in terms of damage via Hound."

Rory hummed in agreement, "If it comes to it, we'll dump him in the ocean together."

The young girl laughed and hugged him hastily before leaving his trailer, going to her own trailer, well it was a trailer where all the assistants congregated, where she was sure the other assistants were piled up and gossiping about the events that occurred earlier.

She knocked on the door and it was opened up very quickly by Ricky, the blue-haired assistant. Trish pushed past him and sat down on the only free chair they had left, propping her legs up on the table and pulling a packet of cigarettes from her pocket. "You came inside just to smoke?" Kevin, the blond assistant, quipped with a raised brow.

"I almost died so I'm just going to do what I please for the next few hours as I just realized how futile my life is right now, and smoking in this trailer wouldn't make that big of a difference on your life," she said, tucking a cigarette between her teeth and lighting it before cracking open the small window next to her. "Besides, I just want to know what you were all talking about before I got in here. I know you guys were talking about it, so tell me."

The blue-haired boy eyed her carefully before clearing his throat, "Well you're right, we were just bouncing some theories off each other. We think it's a plastic surgeon who drugged and manipulated someone into behaving like The Hound." Trisha narrowed her eyes at him curiously, blowing the smoke out towards the window.

"And how do you think some crazy surgeon managed to get said drugged person out to this place where there is security lurking around almost every edge of the perimeter where the camera isn't pointed?" Trisha said in a matter-of-fact fashion, which made them raise their eyebrows at each other, silently asking each other for help.

Blake, the black-haired boy, just scratched the back of his head, "We're still discussing the theories, we haven't found a good one to delve into yet."

The young girl pursed her lips, taking a drag of the cigarette. She decided to tell them her version of the events in detail since it seems they're the only ones who seemed to actually care about how any of this could have possibly gone down and what it meant for them all. She told them about how she had gone out there to help Rory find the locket, how they decided to leave it behind and get back to their trailers, how she was looking back at Rory as she was ahead of him, of how she turned her head for a moment to look at the trucks and trailers for a second, how she looked back and Rory was unconscious on the ice with The Hound next to him.

They gave all their attention to her as she told them how things went down, just as she had told Bob and Rory, and they nodded as they listened along. 

"And that's when you guys came in. So, what do you guys think?" Trisha asked them curiously, sitting back in her chair and going back to take a drag of her cigarette once again and blowing the smoke out the small crack of the trailer window.

"Maybe it was Taranis, God of Thunder," Kevin suggested, his eyebrows raised and looking at the others to gauge reactions.

Trisha snorted, "Why do all you Scotsman believe it's the Celtic God of Thunder?" she said with an annoyed tone, and the blond boy shrugged, the Ricky and Blake sporting confused looks on their faces.

Trisha always knew that she was the type of person to need reassurance and anything absolute, it comforted her to know the process and reasoning behind things, so anyone could understand why all this pent up annoyance was present in her at such an exuberant rate at this moment in time. She needed confirmation, she needed an explanation for why this thing happened and it vexed her that there was no easy way, and possibly no way, to have clarification on this.

The assistants glanced at each other before looking back at her while she was blowing smoke out the window and the Ricky spoke up, "Crazy surgeons, Celtic Gods or not, there isn't an easy answer for something of this nature. Something so strange... It's just not something we could even begin to interpret."

Trisha sighed in defeat and hummed in agreement, flicking her cigarette butt out the small crack of the window and sighing sadly. Trisha had started smoking when she was pretty young, having become hooked after smoking with her crush at a party. She'd only smoked in times of dire stress such as when she was going through exam periods, personal strife, and just now, experiencing near-death. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, she knew it was an admittedly nasty vice but its convenience was what she needed at that moment.

"I just want him gone," Trisha murmured tiredly, twiddling with her thumbs in her lap.

"I'm sure you do, that thing almost killed you," the Blake boy spoke up with concerned eyes.

"I only want to repay the favor..." she said ominously, glancing back up to the boys gathered around her, all of them giving her a wide-eyed stare.

The young girl snickered and waved her hand, "I don't want to kill him but I certainly don't want him around me anymore," the Kevin chuckled and patted her on the shoulder, "You're pretty funny, we need to hang out more often." he said to her and she gave him a nod with a wide grin

"Alright then, let's get out of here. I want to get a drink," she said to them and Ricky scurried off to tell the driver that they were ready to go back to the hotel.

Chapter Text

Trisha leaves the trailer once she and her fellow assistants arrive at the hotel's back entrance, leaving them behind to find Rory or Bob to get updated on the situation with The Hound. She felt it in her heart that she had to know where he was at all times just to feel that sense of safety and comfort, to be able to protect herself in advance if he had any ideas of snapping again and attempting to kill her or someone else.

She gulped and entered through the back entrance of the hotel, swinging the door open and finding her way to the jazz lounge where she knew most of the staff would be, trying to warm themselves up by the fire or by an inch of gin, encompassed in the atmosphere of hearty laughter and loud conversations, she yearned for it but it would have to be something she would have to wait for. First, she needed to find Bob.

Poking her head around the large columns at the entrance to the jazz lounge, she scanned the area to look for any sign of Bob or Rory, yet she could only see the three assistants finding themselves at home at the only vacant table left in the bar area. The young girl rolled her eyes at them and continued to look around and she could see a large man hunched over at the bar, sitting with a much shorter person, a normal-sized person is what anyone else would say. She recognized that it was Rory and she let out a sigh of relief, finding her feet carrying her towards him.

She sat on his right side as the left was occupied by none other than Richard Dormer, who plays one of her favorite characters on the show; Beric Dondarrion and is coincidentally one of her favorite people on set to work with, even though that may only be behind the camera. "Hey Rory, hey Rich," Trisha greeted them warmly, taking her beanie off.

"Hey, sweet one, where've you been?" Richard asked her and she took a deep breath, shaking her head and letting a light laugh leave her chest, "It's been... An unbelievably draining day on set, you wouldn't believe it."

"Oh, you mean the thing with that Hound fellow?" the shorter gentleman said in a nonchalant manner and Trisha's eyes widened immediately, "You know about that? How- what, how?!" Trisha exclaimed, desperate for an answer.

Rory coughed, pounding his chest with a fist and he spoke up for the first time since she'd sat down beside him, "Well he woke up again and a lot of us had to help security to get him back to sleep again."

Trisha's heart raced at the mere thought of having to be in his wakened presence, how Sandor would've been absolutely filled with rage and being at the brink of breaking out of his binds, Rory saw the fear in her face and gently placed his much larger hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing to worry about now, he's in a room with plenty of folks to watch over him." 

The young girl couldn't help but have her mind drift to the worst scenarios, ones where he'd creep up to her in her sleep and smother her, where he'd plunge a dagger into her chest, killing her in front of her loved ones... They were terrifying thoughts to have but she ultimately knew the more plausible scenario that could occur was one where he'd disappear as quickly as he'd appeared. That was an incredibly pleasing thought to her.

"Does everyone know about him now?" Trisha asked them both, "I mean, it's the most insane thing that people would have to see it just to believe it."

"Everyone in this lounge has seen it," Richard said to her with a tight smile, gesturing his hand around to all the workers and staff on the set that were behind them on their seats and couches, sharing their stories and jokes and bellowing with laughter, "And Gregory over there felt it," he continued to say, nodding his head to a middle-aged gentleman in the corner which she recognized as the director of photography who had a large band-aid on his forehead.

"Jesus Christ," Trisha murmured, noticing that there was a rather large bump under his wrap, "What happened?" she asked curiously, turning her attention back to Richard and Rory.

Richard took a sip of his whiskey, "Well he woke up while they were taking him out of the big boss's trailer and Gregory was one of the first people outside to help and Sandor gave him a quick butt in the head."

The large Scotsman had taken it upon himself to order Trisha a gin and tonic on the rocks, which she thanked him for, and she nearly gulped the glass in one go which caused the man next to her to chuckle. "Take it easy there, Trish," he said to her without looking at her, his view concentrated on the bottles stacked up on the backlit shelves. "We nearly died, so..." Trisha said to him with raised eyebrows and Rory couldn't help but to nod in agreement with a small grin, then they both took a sip from the remainders of their drinks at the same time, slamming their cups back down on the bar bench and beckoning the server for a refill.

"Rich, what do you think about all this? Did Rory fill you in on all the details?" Trisha asked the younger of the duo and he hissed as he put his glass back on the bar bench, "Yeah, he told me about the whole thing. I'm not really sure what to make of it all, it's just all so strange, I couldn't even begin to tell you my thought process right now."

Trisha gave him a small smile and raised her own glass in agreement before taking a sip of her newly filled glass. She still couldn't wrap her head around the whole situation with Sandor herself. The Hound. She couldn't even decide what to call him, because The Hound implies that he's a person with based animal instinct and using his given name gives him a sense of humanity, which she hadn't experienced from him at all yet it was who he was. To her, it seemed as though his animal instincts still outranked his humanity.

Her preferences on his title weren't the only thing on her mind as she was on her way to the hotel in the assistant's trailer, her thoughts swimming with theory after theory after theory, trying desperately to find an answer to something that couldn't possibly have an answer. It still annoyed her, it annoyed her deeply and it pained her to not be able to find a resolve. The young girl sipped from her drink again, her eyes wandering around the lounge and her ears picking up the light tune of saxophone coming from the speakers littered around the corners of the room.

"I'm tempted to gather everyone around to see what their thoughts are about this but I'm only looking for a logical answer, which I know that is not that easy to ask for, but if I hear another person saying it's the Celtic God of thunder, I'm gonna jump off a cliff," Trisha said to them both and they snorted, Richard slapping his knee and shaking his head.

The youngest of the three of them downed her drink and placed it on the bar bench, hopping out of her stool and straightening out her clothes, "Any idea where Bob is lurking?" she asked them and Rory lifted his head, "He's in The Hound's room, room 234," the large Scotsman said to her and she thanked him by patting his back and giving Richard a hasty hug before leaving to find The Hound's room.

It's suddenly occurred to Trisha that The Hound's room was close to hers, her room was 237, which made her gulp but she shook off the dreadful feeling of fear crawling up her spine and made her way to the floor where her room was. 

In the elevator, the young girl was joined by one of the assistants, Kevin, who was holding a glass of wine. She silently pressed her floor button and the elevator quickly hummed to life. She saw that he hadn't made a move to press a button so she thought that he'd be on the same floor as her, the elevator arrived at her destination and she exited with the blonde assistant walking by her side.

"Are you on this floor as well?" she asked him and he shook his head, "Gods, no, Bob just asked me for a glass of wine so I'm just going ahead and delivering it."

Trisha furrowed her brows in confusion, knowing Bob didn't drink alcohol. It must mean that it was for someone else.

"I'm going to see him as well," she told him and soon they arrived at room 237, The Hound's room, together. 

She knocked on the door and one of the security guards opened it, she recognized him as the guard that was left with Bob and The Hound in the director's trailer and he let her in quickly, with Kevin in tow. Her eyes immediately went to The Hound on the clean bed in his heavy layers of fur, his hands cuffed and resting on his stomach, her breath catching in her throat after examining him and seeing just how peaceful he looked without the scowl he wore on his face while he was conscious and aware. "Here you go, sir, your wine," Kevin said to Bob, handing him the glass of wine and taking an awkward bow before leaving.

"Strange kid..." Bob said as he looked at the space that Kevin had just left.

"Strange indeed," Trisha said, finding herself in the seat farthest away from the bed that The Hound rested in, "Not as strange as seeing you with a cup of wine," she said to her boss with a perched eyebrow, he stepped towards the nightstand and placed the glass on top, "It's not for me."

It dawned on her that it was meant for The Hound.

"I heard about the scuffle that happened when you guys arrived," his young assistant said aloud to him, "heard he did quite a lot of damage in regards to a certain director of photography's face." 

Bob snickered at the way she put those words together, "Yes, that was quite the anomaly."

"So we're just going to keep him subdued until George comes tomorrow, is that your plan?" Trisha turned to look at him still standing by the sleeping Hound.

"I fear that he may die if we taser him any further. Actually, I'm quite surprised he isn't dead already from the amount of electricity that's passed through his body, so we'll just have to give him wine and food instead to subdue him until George's arrival," Bob informed her and she inhaled deeply at his words, "Do you think he'll wake soon?" she asked him and he shrugged.

"No clue," he said to her honestly and she could only let her eyes drift back to The Hound's layered furs, "I was actually just about to go to bed and leave the big man with these lovely lads here," Bob raised his hands to gesture to all five security guards standing around the relatively large room. 

Trisha thought that she too should go to bed, especially after the long day that she'd been through, yet she felt like she wouldn't be able to sleep a wink tonight. "I think I'll stay here just a bit longer."

"You sure?" her boss asked her with a hint of concern in his tone, "Yeah, I'll be out of here soon, don't worry," she told him.

He paused for a moment and nodded before leaving, the door shutting behind him and letting a veil of silence fall over the room. The silence was undeniably awkward, and the stoic men standing around the room seemed to have their focus either on a blank wall or on The Hound himself.

Trisha had a thumb pressed to her lips, her eyes furrowed in concentration as her mind went back into over-thinking mode. Would The Hound really accept food and wine in exchange for peace? Even with cuffs on, is he able to kill every man in this room, including herself? How would he adjust to modern society? How would the authorities handle this? Would they have him killed? Put him through a series of tests? What if voodoo was the reason he was brought here? Could it really just be a drug-fuelled maniac? 

That last thought made Trisha scowl at herself.

Perhaps it really was the work of a Celtic God. Taranis.

That made her scowl even more and she groaned outwardly to herself in frustration. She rested her elbows on her knees and placed her face in her palms, the feeling of annoyance and displeasure still heavily present in her chest. Taking her head out of her hands, she tucked her legs beneath her and placed an arm on the armrest, placing her chin in her hand, she trained her eyes on The Hound; watching every movement he made.

She observed how his chest rose and fell beneath all his layers, how the burn scar on his face glistened in the pale light of the moon that peaked through the curtains, the large hands that slept in loose fists and then her gaze stopped at his face. So tranquil. His mouth slightly agape as he slept quietly. His body was large and muscled and thought it didn't seem possible, he appeared to be larger than his life-like counterpart, Rory.

Her body seemed to echo his, her eyes starting to droop and her mind becoming clear of Hound burdened musings, her hand slipped from under her chair which caused her head to drop abruptly and she whipped her head back up and she blinked herself back to consciousness but that didn't take her tiredness away at all. She folded her arms on the armrest and laid her head down without thinking.

Soon, Trisha was awoken by a very loud shout, she sat up immediately to see what was happening and she saw two guards on top of the very conscious Hound trying to wrestle him down to the bed.

"You'll die a quick death once I get out of these chains, you cunts." The Hound spat. Trisha jumped out of her chair and backed herself into a corner, watching as The Hound sat up at an astounding speed, knocking one of the guards on his back. Quickly looking around the room, she realized it was only the two of the security guards here with her and The Hound, the rest of the guards nowhere in sight.

The security guard quickly got up and went back to help his colleague to restrain the large man, and Trisha's eyes fell to the taser that had fallen out of the guard's back pocket. The Hound managed to shake the guards off, both of them falling to the ground and groaning in pain.

Trisha quickly made a run for the taser and jumped on The Hound who fell back on the bed, she straddled his waist as quickly as she could and she winced when he pressed his fists onto her stomach in an attempt to push her off. She yelled and swiftly pressed the taser to his neck and held the trigger for a few seconds, feeling him shake beneath her and seeing him clench his jaw as he was electrocuted. She let go of the trigger and tossed the taser beside his head on the bed, The Hound lay still beneath her, his eyes closed, his neck red and his face rid of a scowl.

The young girl heaved and almost collapsed on top of him, the adrenaline coursing through her body at an alarming rate, she pressed her hands to his chest to steady herself and could feel the strong pound of his heartbeat, she couldn't find the strength to get off of him at that moment, though she was quickly becoming aware of how provocative it looked. 

The door to the room opened up and she turned to see who had arrived, it was Bob and the rest of the security guards. Bob was wide-eyed as he spotted his assistant on top of The Hound, and it was at that moment that his eyes fell to the two security guards on the floor still moaning and grabbing at the sorest parts on their bodies. Trisha let herself fall off The Hound and lay beside his unconscious form, her breathing erratic and uneven.

Bob rushed to Trisha and the other security guards turned to check on their colleagues and The Hound himself, "Are you okay? What happened?" Bob asked the young girl with concern laced in his voice.

"He... He woke up again," Trisha managed to say, trying to steady her breathing and mentally trying to slow her heart rate down, "I had to taze him."

Bob turned to look at the large man next to her and he saw that he was out like a light, "I thought you said you were leaving," Bob said to her, trying to lighten the mood. "I was, but then I fell asleep and luckily I did that here because there's no saying what could've happened if I wasn't here to taser this big asshole back into hibernation," Trisha said to him, trying to muster up a bit of humor to lighten the mood.

Bob gave her a small grin for her efforts and he turned to the security guards. "So, what happened before she tasered him?" he asked them and one of the guards that were present during the attack stepped forward, trying to simultaneously walk and soothe his aching thigh, "We tried to offer him the food and wine, as you suggested, then he just jumped up and tried to attack," the guard attempted to say professionally yet there was an occasional hiss of pain while he talked.

"Thank you for doing your best, guys, I know this isn't an easy job but we appreciate all that you're trying to help us with," Bob said to them and they only gave a curt nod in return, resuming their duties.

"How about I take you to your room and we can let the rest up to them, then I'll come and get you when George arrives."

"When's he gonna be here?" 

"In a few hours, but until then; you need to sleep in a bed and not a chair," Bob told her sternly and she didn't have the energy to agree or disagree with him so she grabbed the hand that he had offered to her and she looked back at The Hound's peaceful form one last time before she trudged out of the room in front of Bob.

With the adrenaline slowly leaving her body, Trisha could feel the throbbing and aching in her neck from the awkward position she had fallen asleep in. It sounded ridiculous, but Trisha felt the weight of sleep pressing on her once again and she wanted nothing more than to fall on her own bed and take the rest she deserved.

Trisha grabbed Bob by the shoulders before entering her own room, "Don't forget to get me when the George gets here," she said to him, "I need to be there."

Her boss gave her a nod and patted her arm. "Wouldn't dream of forgetting it, now go and rest," he told her and she needn't argue.

She went into her room and locked her door (checking thrice to see if she'd really done the job right) and she immediately fell on her bed, quickly putting her phone on charge and letting sleep take over.

"Tell me, dove," she heard a voice whisper into her ear, "Do you want to kill me?" it asked her and she slowly opened her eyes to find herself in a white desert. It was cold, the wind whipping by her hair and snow slowly falling around her. The young girl could feel that she was in a thick, floor-length dress with the sleeves that stretched down to graze the icy ground. She felt a warm weight on her stomach and looked down to see large, scarred but clean, hands holding her in place. She gulped and looked behind her to see The Hound's face looking down at her. 

She expected her heart to race, for her stomach to drop and the urge to push him away but she felt an unbelievable sense of comfort and safety in his arms. When he was as calm and collected as he was being right now, she wanted to lean into him and close her eyes to rest and revel in the warmth his large form provided.

The words that left her lips surprised even her, she felt like she didn't have any control of what she had to say, "No."

He hummed in her ear and brought her impossibly closer to him, resting his head on her shoulder and beginning to sway with her in the snow. "I thought you'd say that," he said to her calmly and she shut her eyes with a small smile creeping on to her face.

Trisha woke up in a hot sweat, gasping for air and grasping at her clothes. She unzipped her jacket and took off her shirt and jeans, throwing the damp clothes to the floor in a flurry. Pressing a clammy hand to her forehead, she wiped back her sweaty hair from her face and tried to collect herself. She looked up to see a mirror on the wall, tall and edged with swirled gold, she stepped closer to it and the fading light through the curtains illuminated all of who she truly was behind closed doors.

Her skin glistened from her sleeping sweat and her dark brown hair was sticking up in all kinds of directions, her chest rising and falling quickly, she keenly spotted dried dribble on her chin and licked her thumb to clean it off, her neck still covered with the bandage that the paramedic had swiftly plastered on her which was now peeling away at the edges thanks to her sleep sweats, her breasts almost falling out of her bra and her underwear askew. Trisha tried to clean herself as best she could, taking her hair out and tying it up in a messy bun, putting her breasts back into place in her brassiere and pulling her underwear back into place, she glanced at herself once more. Her eyes fell to her stomach where her mind immediately flashed back to how the kind and gentle Hound had placed his cleansed, scarred hands on her body and she shivered at the memory and how real it felt.

"Do you want to kill me?"

Right now, in her conscious state, she would've narrowed her eyes at him and told him, "Yes, and I'd do it a thousand times."

They say that drunk words are sober thoughts, so what does that make the words from a nightmarish dream? Does it make it the exertion of a wishful heart? She thought that it couldn't possibly be true, why would she wish to be held in The Hound's arms? Trisha groaned at herself for the ridiculousness that she was subconsciously applying to herself and tried to shake away the unanswered, nagging questions inching into her mind.

Putting on a blouse and some wide-leg pants, tying the look together with a belt, and putting on some socks and fluffy slides. She opened her curtains to let the evening sky beam into her messy room. Hearing a knock at the door, she quickly turned to peek through the peephole and saw none other than her grey-haired boss, Bob.

She unlocked the door and opened it to a warm greeting, "How'd you sleep?" he asked her and she raised her eyebrows, giving him a tight smile and doing her best to ignore the thoughts of her dream that threatening to crawl into her mind once again. "Great! Never better," she said to in an oddly cheerful tone. To anyone else, they'd point out obvious a lie it was but it was clear he head something else on his mind so he didn't really notice.

"That's good, I came to get you like I promised because the big man himself has finally arrived and he's on his way up."

Oh shit, she thought to herself, he's here.

"He's here," Trisha said aloud, a sense of excitement beginning to wrap around her bones and her heart. What would it be like for this man to meet his own creation? "Good- great! Yes, let's get going then."

Bob nodded and they left together to go to The Hound's room where Rory was already waiting with all 5 security guards still on standby.

They stood in The Hound's together in silence after greeting each other and Bob looked at his phone to check the time. "He'll be here any second now," he said quietly, and as soon as he'd said that, there was a knock at the door. Rory and Trisha turned to look at each other in surprise and Bob left to open the door.

Opening the door widely, they were greeted by the big man himself, George R.R Martin. Creator of the Game of Thrones and subsequently, The Hound.

"Hello, sir," George greeted him warmly. 

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Trisha let out a breath of relief and felt the weight of the world lifting off her shoulders. Maybe, just maybe, we might finally have an answer to this whole thing. Maybe. 

Chapter Text

"It's great to see you," Bob said to George with a tight smile, shaking his hand and stepping back.

Bob raised his hand and gestured to Trisha and Rory, "This is my assistant Trisha, and you know Rory," George stepped forward to shake their hands, giving Rory a light slap on the shoulder. "It's nice to meet you, sir," Trisha said curtly, poising herself to make herself look professional

"The pleasure is mine," he responded with a chuckle, "What happened there?" he said, raising his hand to gesture to the bandage on her neck. She brought her hand up to cover the plaster and gulped at the memory of how the injury occurred. "He, uh, cut me, but it's nothing compared to what Rory has on his leg."

Rory rolled his eyes, "Don't you worry yourself about me, Trisha, I'll be fine," he said sternly to the young girl, raising an eyebrow at her and she looked at him with disregard.

"I apologize if I'm being rude, Mr. Martin, but I heavily insist that you look at the man laying on that bed and try to tell us what you think," Trisha said shakily, "I-I know I'm not someone you know, and you may not exactly trust me but I swear on my life that this man..." she swallowed and hung her head low.

"He tried to kill us," she told him hesitantly, "he said he was the Hound and... You know The Hound better than anyone, I mean you created him and I know you didn't bring him here, I know that, but I don't want you to look at him, I need you to look at him, just, please! Please tell me I'm not crazy," Trisha said with teary eyes, her body beginning to shake and her hands becoming clammy. "Calm down," Rory said to her quietly, gently placing his hand on her shoulder but she slapped it away. 

"No, I don't need to fucking calm down! I need someone to tell me that he isn't real!" She shouted and she slapped a hand on her mouth when she heard that man in question beginning to rouse from his sleep. "Shit, I-I'm sorry..." the young girl said quietly, wiping her hands on her shirt and swiping her sleeve under her nose to stop the snot from dripping out.

George exhaled through his nose and put his hands in his pockets, "It's alright, Miss," he said her softly with a reassuring look, he turned to where the bed was, where the Hound was beginning to move in his sleep, "Okay, I'll take a look at him," he said and she let out a breath of relief, putting a hand on her chest and bowing her head.

"Thank you," she said quietly. George only nodded and stepped to the side to get closer to the bed, where he leaned over the Hound to get a better look at him, all while under the watchful eyes of the security guards. The heavyset man raised his hand and prodded at the flesh of his face, letting his fingers run over his burn scar as he hummed quietly to himself, George then separated the Hound's chapped lips with a pen from his breast pocket and examined his teeth, which were slightly blackened between each tooth and his breath stinking of alcohol. George scrunched his nose and pulled his pen back, wrapping it with a handkerchief and putting it in his pant pocket.

He stepped away from the bed and cleared his throat, "Sufficed to say, this is a truly strange occurrence, I'm not really sure of what to say..." he told them truthfully, looking up to Trisha, Rory, and Bob who all had their eyes on him in anticipation. "Let's think about this hypothetically, even if this were the real Sandor... The circumstances are impossible to determine- And also, how did he get here in the first place? I should've asked that the moment I stepped in here," he said, baffled, and Trisha let out a deep breath, closing her eyes and composing herself before sitting George down and telling him the story from the start.

"Bob... Aren't those swords just props?" George quipped when she got to the part of when the Hound and Rory got into a swordfight.

"Right you are, George, but Sandor's sword was real while Rory's prop sword was an aluminum training sword- Able to fight with, surely, but it has blunted edges so it reduces the risk of harm on set," Bob explained to him.

"Even the dagger?" George added.

"Well, the dagger... The prop ones, they're retractable and made with plastics and styrofoam, but Sandor's was real."

"Interesting..." George said to himself, rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger, "Very interesting."

Trisha got back to telling him the story of what happened, giving him every detail just in case any of it would help him to come to an adequate conclusion.

"So everyone now knows of his existence, and they're convinced it's Sandor?" George asked with furrowed brows, his elbows resting on his knees.

Trisha looked to Rory, and the big Scotsman sighed and sat down in the vacant seat next to her and explained to Geroge of the ordeal that happened when the Hound arrived at the hotel, how he punted the director of photography, how everyone from on the set staff team tried to help sustain him and wrangle him into this hotel room where he was tasered again and put into another sleep.

George cleared his throat after listening to what Rory had to say, "You'd think that much tasering would kill someone or at least send them into cardiac arrest, but I suppose that I made him the way that he is, which is a big guy who's tough to kill," he said in a matter of fact manner, causing Rory to chuckle.

"I suppose you're right," Rory said to him with a small smile.

Just a beat later, the Hound began to stir in his sleep again and his eyes shot wide open. The guards quickly stepped forward, securely barricading him from the people discussing the man of the subject in their own corner of the room, Trisha quickly got to her feet and crossed her arms over her chest. Rory instinctively took a step in front of Trisha, sheltering her in any potential harm's way.

George stood up as well, with the help of Bob, and they watched as the Hound sat up on the bed with three guards holding him still to stop him from wriggling out of the bed. "I'll rip out your fucking throats out with my teeth if you touch me again," he spat at them, still trying to jab at them anywhere he can.

"Sandor," George said aloud, grabbing the Hound's attention and pausing his attack on the guards trying to hold him down, "Stop this nonsense right now."

"And who the fuck are you supposed to be? Lord of the shitholes, I suppose. I don't fucking care who you are, but you best let me out of here before I kill you too and strangle you with your own bloody guts," the Hound jeered, and George only exhaled through his nose with a frown.

"I know who you are, Sandor Clegane."

"So what, you want to suck my dick? Is that it?"

"Sandor, no."

"If you say my name again one more time, I'll rip your fucking tongue out."

"I know who killed your sister," George said, effectively shutting the Hound up, "And I also know that you're the only person who witnessed her death and the only person to see who caused it.".

"So what, you a priest? Or did that fire worshipping, bald fucker Thoros tell you to look into the flames?" the Hound hissed at his creator.

"No, Sandor, none of that. But right now, all I can tell you is that I know everything that has ever happened to youto all the people you know and more," George said to him, stepping closer to the bed and being careful not to get a strong reaction from him.

"Go on then," the Hound said to George, "Tell me how my sister died.".

George held his breath, looking back at Trisha, Rory, and Bob and they nodded to him, he turned back to the Hound and wiped the sweat bead forming on his brow. "Your brother, Gregor Clegane, killed your sister.".

The Hound's shoulders squared and his eyes narrowed. "If you're the all-knowing lord you claim to be," he said with disdain, "tell me how she died then. Go on. Tell me," he lowered his head and looked George straight in the eyes, George being taken aback and unnerved by the look in his eye. That look could kill. 

"She died the same way you got that scar on your face. With one hand on her small, infant body pressed into the hot coals and one hand on the scruff of your neck, you could only look on, being burdened with guilt for every second of your life because of it. I know you blame yourself, but there was nothing you could do. You couldn't push him away, you couldn't call for help, you couldn't do anything. All you could do was look. He made you look," George said to him, his voice wavering as he tried to prove himself to his own creation.

The Hound slumped his shoulders and looked at the floor, Trisha had the mind to think he was trying to blink away his tears after hearing the story from someone else, from someone else who knew the torment that he had witnessed and experienced, but another part of her mind thought that he couldn't possibly be able to cry. Instead, she was trying to blink away her own tears as she continued to watch on, waiting for what the large beast had to say next.

"How did you know that?" the Hound murmured quietly, looking back up to George, and Trisha could see that his eyes weren't teary at all, that he looked more confused and genuinely surprised.

"Because I created everything that you have ever known. I created you, I created your brother, your sister, your mother and father. I created the seven kingdoms of Westeros and all its noble houses. I created everything you have ever known and more, and it's difficult for me to say this, but none of it is real. You're just one of many characters I created for a book," George spoke to him sympathetically.

It hadn't occurred to the Hound yet, but Trisha could already understand the devastation of it all. Of all the many things she knew of the Hound, she knew he was a warrior who had to fight for his life too many times to count, that he'd been maimed by his only brother, that he'd been treated like he was lesser than for the entirety of his existence, and now, she knows that he'd witnessed his only brother murder their infant sister only to be told that everything he knows isn't real. Whether the Hound believed George or not at this moment, it was only inevitable that he would come to discover the modern world on his own but right now... They needed his trust, and whether he knew it or not, he needed their help.

"Get him out of those chains," George said to the guards and Bob stopped forward instantly, "Woah! Absolutely not, no, we can't do that," Bob said, putting his hands on George's shoulders and making him face him. "We can't take the cuffs off, he's too dangerous," Bob turned to look at the Hound, who hadn't bothered to move, his eyes trained on the ground. Trisha frowned at the sight, it was clear to her that it was all dawning on him.

Trisha's heart stopped, and she could almost feel the heat of a light bulb beaming over her head, she had just come up with an incredible idea. Well, it was either incredible or incredibly risky, but that was a possibility she was willing to wager with. The young girl stepped forward to the bed, George and Bob too busy arguing to even notice her coming close to the Hound behind them. She felt her heart rise in her throat, her mouth going dry and her hands starting shake with every step she took to get to his side. 

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and held it in her hand and she knelt in front of the Hound, putting a hand on his leg to steady herself, "Sandor," she said quietly, "I want to show you something."

Bob and George had immediately stopped talking, turning to look at the young girl and the Hound. The large beast of a man looked to her and to the hand on his knee, then back to her face and he said, "What is it, girl?" he asked her.

Trisha gulped and she pressed the power button on her phone, the screen beaming to life and revealing a picture of herself with her family on the lock screen. The Hound leaped backward slightly and watched the screen warily, his mouth hung open. "This is a mobile phone, an electronic device, it displays moving images and is powered by a battery, a small container of energy," Trisha told him nervously, watching his face closely and looking for any sign of anger but there was none so she composed herself and swiped the screen and entered her passcode, then she went to YouTube and typed in his name, all while the screen was still facing him. Trisha could hear that his breathing was picking up, watching as the search bar went away and the Youtube videos loaded out, all thumbnails featuring his face in them.

"Trisha, what are you doing?" Bob said to her, watching them in amazement as the Hound was near calm and how Trisha had finally gained the courage to be in his presence.

She turned to her boss and explained, "If we can't say it to him, then we have to show him," she turned her attention back to her phone and the Hound, and she selected a video. The video was titled 'Game of Thrones - Best of the Hound' and the first clip to play was one of where the Hound defended Loras Tyrell from his brother, the Mountain.

The Hound watched on with skepticism, his heart thumping in his chest as he watched the moving images play out on Trisha's phone screen, he'd never seen anything like it and it almost scared him, mostly because he was witnessing something of his past on the small device that she was showing to him.

"Stop, stop it," he said to her, shifting his leg and knocking her hand off of him. "I've seen enough," he said to them, looking to the floor once again, Trisha got to her feet and quickly rushed to the safety of the large Scotsman, Rory, grabbing his arm and hiding behind it.

"What does this mean?" he asked to no one in particular, "What does this make me? A cruel joke of the Gods?"

"We're not sure how you even got here, let alone what it makes you. For all we know, you could be gone as quickly as you'd come," Rory said aloud, speaking to him for the first time since they'd battled on set.

"I bet that's what you all want, for me to be gone. If it's what you want so badly, then you can kill me. There's nothing for me here,"

We can't... We can't kill him... Trish's mind spurred, making her scrunch her nose on the outside. Wait, why do I even care?

"No matter what you are or where you came from, killing someone is illegal," George said to him, and the Hound rolled his eyes. "That's just another reason to kill me."

"We're not going to kill you, so shut up," Trisha snapped, the Hound's eyes quickly finding hers and they stared at each other for a good few seconds before she looked away, the intensity of it all becoming a bit too overwhelming for her. "There's no way we're going to kill you," she said to the Hound and he shuffled forward on the bed, leaning forward and saying, "Then give me some steel and I'll do it myself."

"I don't think you understand, we're not just gonna let you die," Trisha said to him sternly, her eyes narrowing on him and her heart beating faster and faster as the situation escalated.

"I don't belong here, I need to die."

"I don't care," she said to him with an angry tone.

"And why not, girl? Why won't you just let me fucking die?"

"Because whether you're real or not, whether you're actually Sandor Clegane or not, the life you could live here, no matter how long or short, would be a thousand times better than the life you would've lived in that fictional shithole," she ranted to him and he looked dumbfounded, his eyes blinking and trying to take in the words she was shouting at him. It'd only occurred to her now that she'd called him by his real name and not by his given title. He had the mind to think that maybe she was right, but he didn't have the mind to think that she genuinely cared about his wellbeing. 

This man had almost killed her but it was always in her nature to be nice to people, no matter what wrongs they did to her, and she hated that she was caring for him but she couldn't help it. If he hadn't instinctually behaved so hostilely, maybe he would finally be able to see this new world for what it was; salvation. She didn't know if he had the patience for it though.

"Is this world even worth it?" he asked her, silver eyes crinkled with curiosity.

"You'll have to find out for yourself, Sandor," she said to him, saying his name again. It was kind of refreshing for her to call him by his name rather than calling him by his animalistic tag.

"If you give me your word that you won't harm anyone, we'll take off the chains and send the guards away," George said plainly to Sandor, and Sandor looked back to him and they could see on his scarred face that he was taking his conditions into consideration. He eventually nodded and one of the guards stepped forward with caution and unlocked the handcuffs, taking them off him and the large man stretched his wrists, groaning in relief.

"So, where do we start?" Bob said aloud.

"I think a shower would be a great start," George said with a smirk.

Chapter Text

Rory had helped Sandor in the bathroom, explaining how all the things in there had worked suck as the basin, the toilet, the bath, and the shower. Trisha peered through the open door and saw how clueless the large man appeared to be while gazing at the anomalies of a washroom. Trisha could see Rory opening the shower door for, pulling on the shower handle and the water came out from the showerhead. Sandor stepped back and inspected the shower and how the water came out of it so quickly.

"The magic of plumbing," Rory quipped and Sandor tilted his head at him, "greatest invention of man."

Trisha laughed quietly and Sandor turned his head, his eyes meeting hers and she looked away in embarrassment, excusing herself from the room to leave the men to do their own business. "Uh, call me if you need anything, Bob. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Martin," she murmured to her boss and, by extension, his boss as they talked about how the filming process was going prior to Sandor's very sudden arrival.

"Please, the pleasure is all mine," George said to her, shaking her hand with a gentle smile before she nodded and left back to her own room. Before Sandor had come, she had plenty of work to do; memos to send out, approval requests to the studio on behalf of Bob, doing her homework for university. Ever since he'd intruded on her life, she'd forgotten about all of it and felt it was best to get right back into those tasks to take her mind off of him.

As she left the room, she bumped into the blonde assistant and yelped in surprise, "Kevin!" she said to him with an exasperated gasp, and Kevin gazed up at her with shocked, wide eyes. "Oh, hey Trisha," he said to her with a grin creeping onto his face. She smiled at him, becoming unexpectedly happy to see someone else other than Sandor, Bob, Rory, George, and the many guards that lurked in that hotel room.

"What are you doing up here?" Trisha asked him, her head cocked to the side in interest to his comings and goings. He brought a hand to scratch at the back of his head and he mumbled, "Oh, I just lurk around when I have nothing to do, you tend to find a lot of interesting things in these hallways."

Trisha furrowed her brows and crossed her arms over her chest, "Oh yeah? Like what?" she questioned him and he quietly laughed to himself, digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled receipt. He unfolded it and she leaned in closer to read it, she gasped and giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth to stop the echoing of her laughter going down the hallway.

"Oh my God, where did you find that?" she said to him, now chuckling with tears in her eyes. 

"You know that old guy that kept trying to play the piano in the jazz lounge the other day?" Kevin asked her, stifling his laughter.

"Don't tell me- Oh my God, ew! Really? Mr. Babinski?" Trisha said to him, her chest rumbling with chortles.

Kevin only nodded his head with a wide smile, "I tell you, there's no business for a man like that to be ordering that many adult toys-"

"28 adult toys, to be specific," Trisha added with a snort. 

Trisha asked him to join her in the jazz lounge for a drink and he agreed with a meek "Sure!", so off they went.

Meanwhile, Sandor was in the shower and was scrubbing himself with the hotel-provided loofah and he, for the first time in what felt like forever, felt at peace. The water washing away all his scum and grime, easing the tension in his body and providing him with a warmth he didn't know he had been yearning for. He stood there, naked as the day he was born with his head up, letting the water pound at his neck and slide down his body.

He dipped his head under the stream of water and he could see all the red and black that washed down his form and pooling at his feet before going down the drain. At that moment, he didn't care where he was and what he had to do next, he felt like he could stay in there forever and let that hot water just cleanse him.

There was a knock on the door and Sandor could hear his counterpart on the other side. "I'm coming in for a moment, I'm just going to leave some clothes for you on the sink top," he heard Rory yell out from the other side of the door.

Sandor sighed to himself at the sudden intrusion but didn't have the care to send him away. "Fine," he shouted out, and Rory came in, setting a neat pile of clothes on the benchtop next to the sink. Sandor didn't have the care to see what Rory was doing anyway, his head still ducked under the strong stream of hot water, and while he was doing that, Rory let his curiosity get the best of him, peeking through the glass shower door to see if anything was happening to the burn scar on his twins face. 

Rory could see the water sliding over his maimed flesh, coming to the conclusion that the water would do nothing because it could do nothing because that scar was really a part of him. It was real, that much was known to Rory now. Sandor Clegane is real and he's here right now, that though boggled his mind no more than it did when he first saw him laying in the snow the day prior.

"Call out if you need anything else," Rory said to him.

He slipped through the door quietly, leaving Sandor alone to do his thing. 

The large, scarred man turned to let the water hit his back, letting the rigidity in his muscles slip away under the heat and pressure of the water and he sighed, soaking in the sober atmosphere, continuing to scrub at his chest with the nice smelling soaps he was provided with and cleaning away the rest of the silt on his body. He hummed to himself in his new haven of comfort and coziness. Is this what death felt like? If it did, he'd welcome it with open arms. But not yet, he had needed to fulfill his destiny. To kill the man who mangled him, his own flesh and blood.

Sandor then grunted, his clear mind beginning to fill with seas of sinister notions and musings, his consciousness hopping from one thought to another, each weighing an unnecessary burden on his shoulders. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to shut them all out, but he couldn't very well fight with his own mind, not in the state he was in. The thoughts kept coming, creeping in behind his eyes with weak visuals.

Messing with the Brotherhood Without Banners out of pure boredom, trying to entertain himself on their trip to where ever the hell they were taking him.

The sky began to form with dark grey clouds, lightning swirling beneath the cloak of thick air and suddenly everything went black.

He felt something poke at his cheek, and he grabbed at the intrusion, taking that things life into his hands.

That girl's life, he held her life and her body to him, pulling his blade to her throat.

He searched for the Brotherhood with her yelps coming into his ears, only to find 4 strange-looking men, one of them looking identical to him; scar and everything.

Her screams.

Sandor shook that thought away, he couldn't bear to hear her screams anymore, hearing the way she begged him to let her go. Eventually, he did let her go and he saw the way she scrambled away from him, the terrified look in her eyes as she heaved and cried. "No," Sandor muttered to himself, "No."

He pushed her away, pulling out his sword and coming to fight the man that looked like him, his twin, and then everything went black again after feeling something strange, something powerful taking over his body.

It crippled him and his body shook violently while trying to fight it, so all he could do was let the darkness take him over again.

He woke up again in a scramble, being taken outside on a strange grey path, it was solid and there were no loose rocks, everything was pressed into the ground and it was painted with foreign symbols and lines, he tried to fight the men that were grabbing at him, trying to take him into a tall structure with too many strange openings that looked like windows. 

He saw a large group of men exit the building, attempting to come to the aid of the men that had him in their hold, he gathered all the strength he had to whip his head at the first person to come close enough to him, which he succeeded in doing.

He cackled, his daze rendering him a mad man, a man that was happy enough to get at least one person with a good whack.

The paralyzing force met him again, something cold being pressed into his neck and making him shake again, he bit his tongue and tried to fight back again, but he could only let the sleep take him over again.

And then he woke up here, in a strange room on a soft bed and now he was here in another strange room, except this one was nice. The incredible things it made the water do with whatever magic this "plumbing" thing came from, he could stay in it forever.

That was enough. He needed to get out of the water sooner or later, and it seemed to be that sooner was the better. He needed to figure out what he had to with himself next.

"Hey!" he called out to no one in particular, but Rory was there in two beats, peeking his head in and waiting for Sandor's request.

"How does this thing stop?" he asked Rory and the Scotsman came into the rescue.

On the first floor of the hotel, Trisha and Kevin were sharing some funny stories from the set over some Sprite.

"A-and then Bob said," Trisha said, wiping a tear from her eye, "'Who took my magic sweat balls?'" she heaved with laughter and Kevin couldn't help but snort, having to hold a hand over his mouth to stop from spitting up his drink, his other hand slapping the table.

"Oh man, that is evil!" Kevin said with a bark of laughter, "I can't believe you did him like that-"

"Woah! Hey, come on now, it was Jacob Anderson's idea, not mine!" she argued, and Kevin raised a finger to counter instead he snickered, "Okay, that's fair."

Trisha raised her eyebrows at him and took a sip from her drink, "Damn right it's fair, I was barely an accomplice."

"His wife gave him those magic sweat balls," Kevin said with a light chuckle.

"Are you talking about the gift or about his actual balls?" Trisha asked, and they broke into more laughter, continuing to chatter about more goofs and pranks that happened around their workplace until someone came to their table.

"I would like to apologize to you, my lady," someone said to Trisha from behind with a tone that was gruff. She turned to see Sandor with his head hung low, the light of the dimly lit lounge doing nothing to help her see his face properly. Trisha was wide-eyed in taking in his appearance, his clothes that were far different from his medieval get-up, all those thick fur layers and rusting chain mail covering his tattered, woolen clothing underneath.

He wore a grey, cotton sweatshirt and dark blue jeans, which all fit perfectly because there was a particular someone who had the exact clothes that he would need to fit. He sported a black beanie that concealed a good portion of his scar. It looked good on him, not that she minded his scar, she'd seen it on set more times than she can count even though those scars she had become accustomed to were fake but that didn't make a difference to her. You'd think he'd look more like Rory but there was something about him that just made him distinctively his own person. Maybe it was gait or the way he managed to carry himself.

"Oh, uh... Don't worry about it," she began to say in an attempt to stop him from having to talk to her. She wasn't exactly in the mood to talk to him and the attention they were garnering from around the lounge only heightened those overwhelming feelings that were beginning to flood her core. But Sandor silently put a hand on the table and leaned down further to get to the same level as her, which was quite a way to go considering how large of a human being that he was. "It's not, and you know it," he said to her sternly and she gulped at the proximity, feeling his minty breath fanning over her face. Did he brush his teeth? 

"I'm sorry for doing that to you, I'm sure you can understand why I did it," he said, tucking a crooked finger under her chin and lifting her head up ever so slightly to see the white bandage plastered on her neck with the tiniest staining of red. He let go after a moment and she felt breathless for a moment, her eyes trained on his and none of the words she wanted to say found its way to her tongue.

"I-I... Thank you for your apology, Sandor," she said quietly, finally finding the courage to look away from his silver eyes and back to her drink, hoping he'd take the hint that their conversation was finished. He didn't really seem to move from his spot, his hand still on the table and his eyes now looking over her face and how her hair fell in soft curls, her lips plump and glossed over with her beverage. Rory stepped into their space and put a hand on Sandor's arm seeing that their unfinished interaction was making her uncomfortable.

"I think I'll show you to the bar now, big man, I think you'll like it a lot," Rory said to him and he turned Sandor away from Trisha and Kevin's table, mouthing a quick apology to her, she nodded at him with a smile and then they left to the bar, which wasn't too far away, but it was still close enough for comfort. When they'd left, she'd noticed that people were resuming their own conversations between each other then she looked to Kevin who's eyes were comically wide with surprise.

"Jesus, he looks a lot different now. They look like twin brothers now," Kevin said to Trisha who was visibly shaken after her strange experience.

"How come no one finds this as weird as I do?" Trisha quickly followed up, "Like, everyone just saw him and went 'Oh... That's the Hound, that's Sandor Clegane'. Literally, no one else is going crazy over this except for me, isn't that weird?" she asked Kevin and he shrugged.

"Personally, I thought about it for about an hour and just accepted that he was here and that he may be here for good or he may be gone as soon as we know it. Only time will tell, but for now, we'll just have to be patient and see what happens next," he said to her calmly, giving his clear opinion on the matter of the incredibly strange events that have unfolded over the past 24 hours and she was jealous of how quickly he'd gotten over it. Trish wondered if he would have happened upon that same conclusion if he were in the same position that she was in. She wondered would have happened if it was him in the Hound's arms with a dagger to his throat, wouldn't he just go crazy and think about every single possible reason as to why this dangerous fictional man came to life instead of simply 'getting over it'? 

Trisha took his words into consideration, if she was in his position then she'd surely have come to the same conclusion that he had.

"Oh! Were you there when..." Kevin changed the subject, and Trisha pretended to listen to him as she sipped at her drink and glanced over to the two identical men sitting at the bar and having their own drinks, in their own worlds, and talking about everything and, more likely than so, nothing.

How did she have to act around him now? 

I'm sure you understand why I did it, he had said to her. Of course she could understand why. From the basic things that she understood about him, it was because he had to adapt to a grisly, primitive world where it was kill or be killed, serve or be served, eat or be eaten. He ate, he served, he killed. He did what he had to do just to survive.

But why her? Why did she have to be so stupid and let her curiosity get the better of her and poke at him while he was laying in the snow? Why couldn't she just... Why couldn't she hate him? Even after what he did?

She'd tried so hard to make herself believe that she hated him, that she wanted him dead.

Why did she have to let her conscious keep asking her questions?

That was just another question in the bunch that she didn't have the answer for.

Trisha shook her head at herself, taking a gulp of her drink and trying to tune into the story that Kevin was enthusiastically telling, she needed to get her mind out of the endless question gutter.

What did that dream mean? Why did I dream of him? Does... Does he dream of me too?

Chapter Text

"Yesterday, we had to stop shooting for, well, obvious reasons, but we really don't have the time to postpone any further, the studio's been going right up my ass about punctuality," Bob said to Trisha, taking a gulp of his protein shake.

"All they care about right now is pumping out this episode so they can move on to the next one and we're already past the wrap date by a week so this one day break to them is just another day we're losing money," Trisha said to him, tapping her pen on her tattered work journal with a bored expression. "Oh, I've also asked the cameramen if they were filming around the time of the incident, but so far they don't have anything. Just wanted to catch you up on that."

Bob sighed, sliding down in his chair and wiping his hands over his face in frustration, "Thank you. And fine, okay, no more breaks, but we need to sort out this stuff with Sandor," Bob said, his arm resting on the table and waving his hand around annoyance. Trisha had almost forgotten about him. She hadn't seen him since earlier that night when she was going to her room to rest and then fulfill her responsibilities as a busy student and assistant to a director on one of the hottest shows on TV right now.

She'd spent an hour or so more with Kevin that evening in the jazz lounge, talking about the shenanigans he got up to in his spare time and what order he'd rank his favorite sodas in before she finally declared she needed some rest, giving him a gentle pat on the head and leaving him without allowing him to let in another word. She didn't hate Kevin, oh no, she adored him and she enjoyed talking about the most random things with him but she had bigger things on her mind.

She also had bigger things right in front of her and if she wasn't so mentally preoccupied, she would've realized she was about to walk head-on into a brick wall personified. It took her a second to realize that she had just walked right into Sandor's back. She knew it was him because his shoulder-length hair was peeking out from beneath his beanie and, well, his signature grunt immediately met her ears. "Fucking hells," he grumbled, turning around to look at the assailant.

"Sorry," Trisha squeaked, her eyes wide when his icy gaze fell upon her. She zipped around his large body and gave a quick head nod to Rory, who just happened to be by Sandor's side, before opting to take the stairs in order to quickly get out of the embarrassing ordeal that she had managed to create. In her haste, she could hear Rory asking Sandor to get moving. Taking one last look back at the two of them, her eyes connected with his grey ones. Trisha felt frozen to the spot, a gasp stuck in her throat. Rory gently pushed on Sandor's back and finally, his gaze left hers. Out of his sight, she managed to take in a shaky breath, her hand connecting with the railing, the coldness grounding her. 


"Hmph?" Trisha hummed, turning to look at her boss.

"I was just asking what you think we should do with Sandor?"

"Oh, uh... I mean, what can you do when a fictional character comes to life?" Trisha quickly responded in an attempt to save face after zoning out of the conversation just before. Countering her own question, "Everything surrounding that guy is just so fuckin weird... On paper, specifically Game of Thrones paper, he sounds like someone with a great character arc but this isn't paper, this is life."

"Actually, you're right! Plus, we don't even know if he'll disappear as quickly as he'd appeared or if he'd just drop dead out of nowhere, I mean, can you even imagine trying to integrate this guy into society? Do you know how many questions there would be, how many people would call us crazy? And the paperwork, oh my God, that would kill me, it really would," Bob groaned with dread.

Trisha snorted, agreeing with his exasperations. She'd thought about those questions and what they would be, how impossible it would be to even try to convince someone that he just materialized out of thin air and is now going about his business doing whatever he can, within reason. 

"Yeah, just thinking about it literally hurts my brain," Trisha said, sighing with tiredness and Bob only raised his shake in consolidation with her statement, "So, what do we do with him? If he's here by tomorrow morning, do we take him to set? Leave him here with some more guards and... I don't know, a bar tab I guess?" she asked him, and he furrowed his brows, trying to gulp down his protein shake.

"Oh darn, I didn't even think of that," he said, putting his drink down and putting his head in his hands. Trish put down her pen and journal, following his suit. "I guess we could try and take him to the set, but if he doesn't want to come, I'll just station him here with some guards and we'll see if they're not dead by the time filming's finished," Bob said unsurely. 

"Right..." Trisha said, trying to her best to think of another solution to the situation.

"I'll send out a memo the crew saying we'll start filming again tomorrow," Trisha said while collecting her things, "then I'll go and talk with Rory, get his opinion and stuff," she said to Bob and he nodded, collecting his own belongings. 

"Before we go, I just wanna ask you one more thing," Bob said to her and she gave her attention to him, sitting back down with her things in her arms. "How've you been feeling? I know this is a really rough situation, and we're trying to figure everything out as quickly as we can, but this stuff must be hard for you. I know he hurt you, and I'm not gonna lie, I'm a little concerned," he said to her and she sighed.

"Yeah, it's been tough but I understand why he did what he did. I'm not holding it against him-"

"He almost killed you, Trish."

She looked down at her hands and gulped, "I know that," she spoke to him with a sad tone. "But I don't want everyone reminding me about what he did or else I'll never get over it," she said to him. Ever since that dream she had, she'd been doing her best to try and put the situation behind her because it was clear that all the accumulated stress was seeping into her subconscious and that was dangerous. "And I need to get over it or we're never going to get anywhere. And besides, he's apologized to me, so that's just another step forward," she finished, blinking away a tear that was threatening to spill over.

"You're a real trooper, Trish, I'll give you that. I don't know what anyone else would've done if they were in your position," he said to her, patting her on the back and she gave him a tight smile and stood up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Bob," she said to him, giving him an impromptu bow. "Thanks, Trish, you're doing a great job by the way." 

Trisha nodded at him one last time before they parted ways, she had hoped that Rory was back in the jazz lounge and she also hoped that maybe Sandor had sulked off and went back to his room.

"This shit is an itch," Sandor huffed, scratching at the hem of the beanie on his forehead.

Rory swallowed his drink and hissed, "Well we've got to hide the scar so that's what you've got," he said, shrugging at the man across from him who seemed to always be in a sour mood, and with good reason of course.

Sandor gave him an exasperated sigh and a glare, "How much do you know about me?" the scarred man asked his identical other, who responded with a tight-lipped grin. 

"Everything there is to know, I guess," he slurred in his Scottish accent, "But I didn't know that thing about the sister, I guess only George knew that."

"That mad fucker created everything in Westeros," Sandor scoffed, picking up his glass and raising it to his lips, "what stupid cunt does something like that?" he asked no one in particular, dumping the contents of his cup into his mouth and gulping it with ease.

Rory only shrugged once more, becoming increasingly annoyed with his counterpart, "If you ask me, I'd say he's a genius," Sandor turned to him, slamming his glass on the bar top and giving him a sinister scowl.

"He murdered everyone I ever cared about. Killed and destroyed whatever he wanted, and you call him a genius? Stupid cunt," he said with a quiet rage, and Rory dropped his shoulders with an eye roll, "From your perspective, it's a horrible thing to know but it's just fiction, you know that by now," Rory said, bated by Sandor's own mood. "Well, it was fiction."

It was difficult for Sandor to wrap his head around it all. Everything he ever knew was fabricated by a paunchy man with a twisted sense of humor, a man who seemed so careless about the ramifications of his actions and what those actions had done to the people that he didn't know had experienced everything that he inflicted upon every single person Sandor knew and more.

Not that Sandor cared about many of those people, in fact, he applauded some of the things he had done to his enemies and the other horrible people who had inflicted pain on those he cared about, but there were more who suffered at that portly man's hands. Unknowingly, sure, to an extent.

Sandor felt like he couldn't blame him for what happened, how was he to know that his creation was to come to life? And not through a TV show, but in real life. It was a mess that Sandor didn't know could be fixed or if it would ever go away.

"It's a twisted path nonetheless, having to create all that carnage and war," Sandor said while reaching over the bar to grab at a bottle of whiskey, filling his cup almost to the brim, "can't you fuckers just kill me? I don't belong here, I need to go back."

"And for what? To fight in a world that isn't real?"

"It's real to me, damn it," Sandor said with a growl, "All of it was real, this is real," he hissed, pulling up the beanie to reveal the burnt half of his face.

Rory inhaled deeply and took a sip of his drink, putting the glass down with a quiet clink. "I know that Sandor, but to the millions of people who know your name and face, it isn't."

Sandor furrowed his brows in confusion, "Millions?"

Rory nodded, "Yup, millions."

The scarred man frowned at the information, "All because of that book?" he asked, Rory said, "The book and the show."

They sat there together in silence, taking their sips at their own paces as they listened to the quiet music played in the background, the mute chatter about them murmuring from the other guests of the hotel and workers from the production.

"What if I killed you, but only on one condition?" Rory said, breaking the mutual silence.

Sandor huffed, "What is it?" he questioned his identical counterpart.

"You have to stay for a while, experience this modern world and if you like it, you can live with me on my boat - away from the dangers of Westeros, I'm sure you'll like it," Rory offered and Sandor sneered, "No."

"Then do it as a favor, you almost cut my blood my leg off."

"I've cut off many legs from many men, I don't owe them any favors."

"Yes, well they don't exist and I do, how about that?" 

Sandor glowered, bothered by his attempts to bargain his death over the experience of a world he didn't belong in, the world he belonged in was a world where he was physically able to kill his animalistic brother without much consequence, that was the world where he was desperate to go to.

"I'll stay for one moon and not a second longer, then you'll put a blade through my heart," Sandor said to him and Rory put his hand out for a shake.

"Only if you absolutely hate it here, then we've got a deal, my friend."

"You teaching Sandor about deals now, Rory?" Trisha said, nearly frightening the large Scotsman.

"Bloody hell, woman," Sandor said, his hand instinctively going to his hip to grab at a blade that wasn't there.

"Sorry about that," she said to them with an apprehensive look

"I need to talk to you two about something," she added, grabbing a vacant stool and pulling it out to sit by both of them, forming a triangle.

She hopped in her seat, feeling smaller than usual as she was in the presence of such huge men.

"Right, so I've sent out a memo to the crew," Trisha told them. "Yeah, I got the e-mail," Rory waved his phone in his hand.

"Cool, so we're going start filming again tomorrow, but we just have... one... issue," she gulped, "Sandor, would you like to come with us to the set while they finish filming their outdoor scenes tomorrow?" she asked him nervously and his silver eyes narrowed on her, making her more anxious.

Sandor's eyes darted to Rory who slyly nodded at him, and his mind floated back to the deal that they agreed upon just moments ago. 

'Experience this modern world'

"Fine," he said finally, turning away from her to lean against the bar bench and sip at his drink.

"Great," Trisha chirped, hopping out of her seat and putting the stool back and she bid went to bid her farewell to them but Rory grabbed her arm before she could walk away. "Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked hastily and she had a surprised look on her face, "Oh, of course."

Rory got out of his seat and they went to an empty part of the bar and she sat down on a stool while he stayed standing.

"How're you feeling?" he asked her with a concerned look in his eye.

"Why does everyone keep asking me that? First, it was Kevin, then it was Bob, and now you. Yes, I'm fine," she said in a frustrated tone, swiping away at the stray hairs falling over her face. "I can't get over what happened if people keep bringing it up, and he apologized for it so I don't see any reason why this can't get swept under the rug like everything else," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and hunching over on the stool.

Rory shrugged, "women tend to be emotional creatures," he said with a grin, and Trisha protested with a quick 'hey!' before slapping him on the arm.

"I'm kidding, Trish. I was just making sure you were all right, that's all, I promise," he said with a kind smile and she smiled back at him tenderly.

"Thanks, big guy," she said, taking his big warm hand and cradling it, then she peered her eyes downward to his jean-clad leg and remembered, "How's the leg doing now?" she asked him, a worried tone laced in her voice.

He looked down at it and moved his leg around, "It'll be fine but I've gotta go back to the medic tomorrow to get the dressings changed before I get back to work," he informed her and she patted his hand.

"As long as it doesn't turn gangrenous, everything should be fine," Trish replied with a meek but mischievous smile, and Rory narrowed his eyes on her, "You gonna rub some poison in my leg while I sleep or something? Should I be concerned?" he said playfully and she laughed, lightly slapping his chest.

"If you bring me some hot chocolate before work in the morning, there'll be nothing to worry about," she grinned gleefully and he chuckled.

"I think that's a sweet deal in exchange for a good leg," he acknowledged and Trisha giggled once more before letting his hand go.

"I think I'll be off to bed now, we've got an early start tomorrow," she said to him with a small smile.

"Right, well I better see you down here bright and early. It's called a hot chocolate for a reason, y'know? So don't grab it while it's cold," he uttered to her kindly and she gave him a hug.

"I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early, McCann. Goodnight," Trish said to him, her eyes darting over to Sandor whose eyes were trained on the backlit liquor shelves, she considered giving him a 'goodbye' but changed her mind at the last second. She gave Rory a wave of her hand and a smile, then she was off to go back to her room.

Trisha genuinely enjoyed her friendship with McCann, he was kind to her from day one and had helped her a lot on her first day on set. Rory also realized that she was an incredible companion, she was good at listening and had great advice for someone who was so young, he adored her very much and the feeling was mutual on Trisha's side.

Rory, too, was great at listening and on one particular night, she had gone to his hotel room in a sob and poured her heart out to him over the death of a family member, and he comforted her. She'd also fallen asleep in the solace and Rory let her sleep on his bed while he slept on the sofa.

She was so embarrassed when that'd happened, especially knowing how uncomfortable the sofa was for sleeping, having done that herself when she was studying in her own hotel room a few nights prior, but Rory was insistent on the fact that he didn't mind. They only knew each other for a week at that point, but ever since, they'd been very close friends and had often confided in each other over sensitive topics. Richard Dormer came into a close second for her, though she wasn't as close with him as she was with Rory.

Trisha went up in the elevator to her floor and walked down the hallway to her room, slowly stopping to stand front of Sandor's room and her heart began to race as her hand lifted upon instinct, her fingertips running over the numbers on the door.

A lump was rising in her throat and she swallowed it down, pulling her hand back quickly and walking briskly back to her own room, swiping the key quickly to open her own door. She opened the door and slammed it shut behind her, trying to calm the rapid beating in her chest. 

Her mind flooded with memories of the events that occurred in the room across from his.

Waking from her slumber to see him awake and thrashing away at the guards trying to hold him down.

Seeing that damned taser drop to the floor.

Running to it in a rush.

Jumping on top of him.

Straddling him.

Jamming the taser into his neck.

His silver eyes gazing up at her in agony as he trembled beneath her.

The painful heaving in her chest as she gawked at him, wide-eyed.

His rigid body coming to a still, his eyes closing slowly, and the calm breathing of his chest slowly rising and falling, her body moving in sync with his sleeping movements.

"Stop it, stop," she said to herself, her hand going into a fist and clenching it forcefully, making her knuckles white.

Seeing how helpless he was at the revelation of his beginnings.

Bending the knee at his feet and putting her hand on his thigh.

Looking up at his saddened eyes as he watched the footage of himself at Gregor and Loras' joust.

"Please," she cried to herself, resting her head on the cold wall next to the door as warm tears threatened to spill over.

His crooked finger tucking under her chin.

The intimate touch sending a light shock through her whole body.

His silver eyes gazing into hers.

"Tell me, dove. Do you want to kill me?"

Hot tears streaked down her red cheeks, her breathing as shaky as a leaf in the autumn winds, "No," she whispered to herself, clenching her eyes shut and sobbing into her palm. Trisha ran to her bed and grabbed a pillow, screaming into it. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!" she shouted into the feathery headrest, throwing it back on to the bed.

She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and took off her slippers, sliding into her boots and grabbing her puffer jacket, quickly slipping it over her blouse and feeling the pockets to see if they still had her cigarettes in them, which they did. Sniffling, she left the comfort of her cozy room to escape to the exterior of the hotel.

In the elevator, she bobbed her leg up and down impatiently, almost running out of the elevator as their doors opened and welcomed her to the entrance to the jazz lounge and the foyer of the hotel. Lingering silver eyes watched her as she sped walked her way out of the establishment, nearly breaking the glass door with the force she was using.

Rory had left Sandor alone, to go to bed in preparation for filming the next day, with the belief that Sandor was responsible enough to find his way to his room or to at least ask someone to help him find his way to his room, seeing as elevators and key cards didn't exactly exist in Westeros. Not only that, but Sandor's incessant moaning about the modern world was just the kind of sleeping pill he needed.

Sandor finished off his drink and slipped off the stool, stalking his way to the hotel doors and opening them to find a calm and cold outside, the moon shining on the landscape and engulfing everything he could see in a mellow white light.

He looked around and found a sulking girl sitting on a wooden bench, arms and legs crossed over each other, her wavy chin-length hair whipping away in the direction of the light breeze, her light eyes peering up at the moon and the stars twinkling in the sky, a cigarette hanging loosely between her nimble fingers.

"Girl," he spoke up, startling her and making her drop her cigarette, "Jesus Christ, Sandor!" she gasped, clutching a hand to her chest and clenching her eyes shut.

"What in the world are you doing out here? Where's Rory?" Trisha asked, her heart racing at his unannounced arrival and half-expecting to see Rory by his side.

"I asked you first," Sandor said, holding his head up high and crossing his bulging arms across his chest causing her to gulp in anxiousness. Her eyes darted to the burnt-out cigarette on the wet ground and she looked back up at Sandor with a tremor in her words. 

"Nothing," she insisted, clearing her throat, crossing her arms and tucking her hands under her armpits for warmth. "Where's Rory, isn't he supposed to be with you?" 

"No," Sandor said, looking away from the young girl in front of him. She could see the muscles in his arms tensing up, "He's resting." 

"Oh," Trisha said, feeling around in her pocket for her packet of cigarettes.

He stood there, unmoving and stoic, his silver eyes trained back on her form as she pulled a small box out of her jacket and plucked a cigarette from it, putting the stick in her mouth and the box back in her pocket. She brought the lighter to her lips and lit the cigarette, Sandor's eyes looking at the way the fire ignited from the lighter. He flinched just the smallest bit at the sight of the quick burst of inferno from the mysterious object, and she blew smoke out of her mouth.

"What is that?" he asked her, standing still, his eyes watching her every move, how her chest rose up and down at an uneven pace, her soft-looking hair hugging her face, how her slender legs crossed over each other, a hand tucked under her arm and the other held up to her face holding that burning stick.

"My bad habit," Trisha said, bringing it to her lips again and inhaling, blowing out the smoke slowly and feeling the narcotic effect of the nicotine calming her down, relieving her stress. It wasn't the best vice, but it was the closest. She couldn't exactly spill her true thoughts and feelings about the 'Sandor' situation to the people around her, especially because of the intimate nature of some of it, so suppressing her frustrations with a cigarette was the next best thing she could find.

"It's a cigarette. It's the dried leaf from a plant, wrapped in paper. On one end of this stick, there's a cotton filter and you light the tobacco end with a little bit of fire, you smoke it and voila. A bad habit. It's a metaphor," she said, laughing to herself about the last part.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Sandor said, almost sounding uninterested but also a bit angry, Trisha flinched at his harsh tone but went on to explain what she meant.

"It's a pop culture reference. To make a long and boring story short, the cigarette is a metaphor; it can kill you but if you never light it, you don't give it the power to kill you," she said, looking away from Sandor and back at the ground.

"You're killing yourself by smoking that?" he asked, frowning at her synopsis.

"Well, when you have a cigarette you're inhaling smoke which is bad for your lungs, but... I don't know, it just makes you feel good. It has this thing in it called nicotine, it's like a drug," she said, feeling embarrassed for explaining something so terrible and being well aware that it made her look bad. She wanted to be more than her indulgence, and she also felt like it was defining her as someone who was weak.

He moved to sit next to her on the wooden bench, and he spoke, "So you're weak?" he questioned her, but it sounded like more of a statement.

Oh God, please don't say that she thought desperately.

"No," she said, avoiding his gaze and fidgeting with her fingers that were tucked under her arm.

"It sounds like you are," he grunted and she regretted not leaving and going back to her room as soon as he'd come and found her.

"I'm not," the young girl pushed at him, her eyes still trained on the ground. She could hear him shuffle just a bit closer to her and she stiffened in her seat.

"You think you're so funny with all your bloody metaphors and shit, but you're weak. If you want to die so bloody bad then go ahead and kill yourself right now," he said with a stern tone and she grew hot in her layers, becoming irritated with his notions.

"It's just a stress reliever, it doesn't mean I want to bloody kill myself," she snapped at him. "You want to die, but I know that you won't kill yourself."

"Because there's no honor in killing yourself," Sandor answered her, looking at her shaking hand.

"You don't think I'm honorable?" Trisha asked, turning her head to meet his intense gaze, almost saddened that he thought of her in that way. Not that she cared about what he thought, or anyone for that matter... At least that's what she tells herself. It was now that she really regretted not going back inside after he'd spotted her. Did he think of her as someone that was of such a low standing? She hoped not.

Admittedly, smoking really was a bad thing but it didn't make her less of a person... Did it?

Trying to avoid his scrutinization, she decided that her tendency to overthink was getting the best of her.

He didn't give her a response, only continuing to look into her brown eyes and his eyes flickered to her plump, trembling lip, he swallowed his words and his mouth hung agape. 

Tearing her eyes away from his, she let out a deep breath and chucked the remaining half of the cigarette to the ground, stomp out the lit ash with her sole. 

"I'm going to bed, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Wait!" he shouted to her as she began to leave him and she turned around slowly to meet his gaze again.

"I... need your help," he murmured, standing from the bench and she came to the realization that operating an elevator and an electronic hotel key card wasn't exactly in his forte.

"Fine," she said with a huff, quickly turning on her heels and going back inside the hotel.

Sandor followed her silently, his boots thumping on the cold, hard pavement, watching her tentatively as she walked to the elevator. Her short wavy hair bobbed with every step she took and it mesmerized him, though he would never admit that out loud.

They stepped into the elevator together and she pressed their floor number button and she went into a separate corner from him, waiting as the elevator slowly lifted. Sandor exhaled through his nose and grabbed a hold of the bar screwed into the walls and he clenched his eyes shut. 

There was a glimmer of worry in her chest seeing him so unsettled by the elevator but she waved the thoughts away and did her best to ignore him. He's a grown man, he can handle himself. She couldn't keep giving him her attention, it was enough that he kept seeping into her subconscious, her reality didn't need to indulge that.

As soon as the elevator stopped and its doors opened, Sandor slipped out and collected himself as coolly as he could, eyeing up the elevator with a glare as its doors shut in front of him.

He was going to say something crude out of instinct, but his obvious disdain for the technological revelry was enough to seem like it irked the young girl before him so he shut his mouth and turned around to walk with her down the corridor.

They stopped short of his room and she cleared her throat, "This is my room, just in case you need me for anything," she told him and he grunted in response, she inwardly rolled her eyes and took that as her cue to carry on.

They took a step closer to the door of his room, "Do you have the key card?" she asked him and he stopped to pat his pockets for his key card and he found it, pulling it out and examining it with a scrunched nose before handing it to Trisha.

"You just put the card up to this black part here," she told him, raising the card to the scanner on the door which emitted a small 'beep', "and when you hear that it means the door is open," she informed him and he nodded, taking in the information and taking the key card back from Trisha.

"I'll see you tomorrow, get some rest," she said to him, giving him a meek smile and a small wave, turning on her heel to get to the comfort of her own room.

"Girl," he maundered and she sighed, turning back to him with an expectant look.

"What?" she said in an almost annoyed tone, folding her arms across her chest and Sandor looked to his feet then back up at her, appearing nervous.

"You're an honorable girl," he said proudly and she raised her eyebrows, "I know it's not been easy to deal with a grumpy old fucker like me. I know that I tried to... kill you. But the way you've carried yourself, that's honorable. You're a strong woman, I respect that."

He didn't bother to wait for a reaction, closing his door as her mouth hung open in surprise, she didn't know what to give to him for his kind words. Her thanks? A trade of niceties? Just moments ago, he had called her weak and had implied that she had no honor, and she didn't know if it was just his honesty mixed with the lack of a filter and an indecisive mind.

She shut her mouth and turned to go to her own room, unable to come up with a response to what he had just said to her.

Chapter Text

Trisha found herself in her room with her headphones in, sitting on her bed in her pajamas and scrolling through the Game of Thrones Wikipedia page on her phone, Sandor Clegane's page to be precise. Listening to the quiet hum of Frank Sinatra, her eyes took in every detail that the paragraphs had to offer her. 

She wasn't an avid watcher of the show itself, nor was she a reader of the novels that the series was based on, so she was doing some research to try and figure out if she could find out his interests and disinterests to prepare her for the future. She knew the basics about him, dislikes including; fire, his brother, the Lannisters, and talkers. Likes include; chicken, wine, and... pretty much any alcohol. Except for rum because 'that shit is too sweet'.

'Clegane was described as a tormented man driven by anger and hate, aspiring only to kill his brother.'

Gods, she thought, was that really his only aspiration? 

She wondered why and how George could write about characters like this, the harrowing histories he applies to them, and the deadly intentions he gives them. If you take the impossible factor out of the question, the impossible being Sandor's unexpected arrival, George's writing could definitely be regarded as an incredible piece of art, but since the impossible seems to be possible, the consequences are incredibly distressing.

Trisha tried to blink the tiredness out of her eyes as she scrolled through the page, trying to read more about his history and his personality, the pieces starting to fit together; he isn't real, but he was constructed in a specific way. The only people who could try to predict what Sandor would do was George or a diehard fan of the series.

The young girl wiped her eyes and yawned, quickly tying her hair back up into a loose ponytail and letting her head hit the pillows, letting sleep come over her without fail.

Across the hall, in the next room, Sandor took the beanie off his head and threw it to the floor, grabbing the cup of wine on his bedside table which remained there since Kevin had delivered it earlier that day. He gulped all of its contents in one swift motion and placed it back on the nightstand with an exasperated sigh.

He had nearly drunk himself into a stupor, pleased with the idea of free alcohol and a warm bed at his beck. In a rush, he took off all his clothes except for his underwear, which he liked to wear - it was a definite upgrade from what they had to offer back in the seven kingdoms. Sandor stumbled into his bed and he growled at himself for being so languid, and it was then that he realized he didn't know how to turn off the lights in the room. The lights, too, were an upgrade. It wasn't fire, that was for sure, and he preferred it that way.

Sandor considered going to Trisha's room but thought against it, he'd already asked for her help once, that was pathetic enough. Against his better judgment, Sandor lay in the bed facing the ceiling, his thick blankets pulled up to his chest and his eyes blinded by the strong beam of the golden lights.

He found himself trying to fight the sleep, trying to stop the shameless thoughts of Trisha's small form from plaguing his mind once again.

Those creamy thighs are no more tempting than those of a pretty whore's from one of the many nameless brothels of King's Landing... It's tempting nonetheless, which is bad enough. She's an innocent young girl, and she didn't need a scarred old dog like himself to corrupt her.

Sandor figured that if he rid his conscious mind of those thoughts, they wouldn't creep into his sleep but alas, they did. As his eyes closed, he immediately fell into a deep sleep; images of a young brunette girl shifting in her sleep, thick white blankets slipping off of creamy shoulders, alluring brown eyes opening slowly and gazing up at him, arm stretching out towards him languidly with a coquettish grin.

'Come to me, Sandor,' they said, their sultry words like music to his ears.

The large man awoke in his bed with a sweat, huffing and puffing, his hands grabbing at the blankets and throwing them off the empty side of the bed to reveal nothing but empty, white sheets. His heart continued to beat in his chest, thumping loudly in his ears.

Little did the distressed giant know, the young brunette girl had awoken from a similar dream across the hallway.

Sandor's grey eyes snapped over to the curtains in his room, seeing a sliver of the sky through the dark fabrics, the sun peaking over the horizon, dawn has already come. Stretching out his tensed muscles, he was getting ready to get into the shower, doing his best to rack his foggy mind on how to operate it.

Across the hallway, Trisha had stopped mentally beating herself up for having a particularly explicit dream of Sandor, the details were... stifling, which had made her wake up all hot and definitely bothered.

A ringtone abruptly called out to Trisha and she quickly grasped at her phone and saw that it was her mother calling her from halfway around the world.

"Hey Trishy, what time is it over there?" her mother sang in a cheery tone and Trisha let out a tired yawn.

"Hi mama, it's erm," she pulled her phone away from her ear and saw that it was the crack of dawn, time for work.

"It's around 5 a.m–"

"Oh Trishy, did I wake you?" her mother interrupted her with a worried tone. "I'm sorry, love!"

"It's fine, I needed to get up anyway," Trisha said, trying to stifle another yawn.

Her mother gasped, "Gosh, that's so early!"

Trisha snorted at her wild expressions. It was nice, it definitely grounded her which was what she needed.

"How's work? Is it good fun? Is everyone treating you well?" her mother asked.

"Yes, mama, everyone's treating me well. It's tons of fun. There's been a bit of a hold up lately but it's fine, I'm sure it'll pass over soon," Trisha said, unsure of what she was saying.

"Ghee, I hope it isn't too bad, my love. Have you heard from your brother yet?"

"Yeah, we're gonna have dinner together when the crew and I get back to Belfast," she said while brushing her crazy morning bed head out of her face and rubbing the tired out of her eyes.

There was a rap on the door and Trisha got up, "Hold on, mum, there's someone at the door."

"Okay, love."

Slipping into her fluffy slippers, she shuffled to her door and opened it to see Sandor in nothing but a towel.

"Oh my God."

"I need clothes, girl," he grunted, his dark wet hair matted to his face and forehead, a hand holding the weak fold of his towel, the damp fabric wrapped around his waist and revealing a surprisingly fit and broad torso. Her eyes quickly glazed over the myriad of scars on his chest and she gulped. Well, it was no wonder, you had to do everything yourself in a place like Westeros; trekking far and wide to get where you needed to be, you'd also be sure to encounter some hooligans every now and again.

His eyes quickly did a once over of her form, she wore a silk pajama set; a maroon camisole and some shorts. His eyes briefly stopped at the sight of the bandage on her neck, the adhesive curling away from her skin from her rather sweaty sleep.

'My God' he thought to himself then he quickly grabbed that thought by the throat and punched it in the face, throwing it in the back of his mind.

"Oh my God, just go back to your room, I'll get you some clothes," she said, raising her free hand to shield her eyes from his half-naked form.

He muttered something under his breath and turned back to his room until he stopped in his tracks.

"Did you..." she began to say and he huffed angrily through his nose.

"I don't have that key thing with me."

"Jesus Christ," Trisha said to herself quietly, her heart racing at the sight of his toned, wet back.

"Okay just... Oh my God, okay, go into my bathroom and I'll be in there in a second," she said to him and he turned on his heel, entering her room quickly.

She closed the door quietly and tried to calm herself down, raising her phone to her ear, "Mum, I have to call you later."

"Is everything okay, love?" her mother asked her, clearly concerned.

"Everything's fine, I just have to deal with something right now–"

"Who was that? I think I heard a big angry man in the background," her mother asked, pushing her to give more details on what she'd heard.

"I-It's just the TV, I'll call you later, bye mum!" she said, quickly hanging up and throwing her phone on the bed, a feeling of guilt quickly coming over her for not giving her mother the chance to say her farewells. She brushed it off quickly and focused on the bigger issue that was at hand.

She made her way to the closed door of the bathroom and gave three knocks. "I'll be back in a few minutes with some clothes, okay?" she said aloud and he responded with a "Go on, girl."

"Alright..." she said quietly to herself, her mood immediately dropping from his rude tone.

She grabbed her phone off her bed and her key card from her jacket pocket and left to find Rory's room.

At the end of the hallway was Rory's room and she knocked on his door rapidly and the door immediately opened to find that he was already dressed and ready to get to work. 

"Woah, Trisha, are you okay?" he asked her, raising his hand to gesture to her hair, "And why are you in your pajamas?". Trisha felt her cheeks grow pink, trying to pat down her hair which was undoubtedly sticking out in all kinds of crazy directions.

"I just woke up, and I need some of your clothes," she said abruptly, not bothering to give him any more details.

"What? Why?" Rory asked her with furrowed brows.

"Um," she said, burrowing her hand in her pockets, "Well, Sandor had a shower and then came to my room to get some more clothes, accidentally locking himself out of his room and... Now he's in my bathroom with nothing but a towel and he needs more clothes," she said to him quickly, trying to avoid the inevitable awkwardness. Rory leaned against the door frame with crossed arms and a raised brow.

"Don't even," she flared her nostrils at him, raising her hand and pointing at his face. A chuckle rumbled his chest and a grin graced his cheeks.

"Okay, give me a minute," he said to her and he left, grabbing some clothes and boots then they left together to go to her room where a very clueless Sandor was waiting.

Trisha opened the door to her room and let Rory in, which he nodded at her in thanks for then he went to the bathroom door with the clothes in hand, giving the bathroom door three knocks. "Alright, big guy, I've got your clothes," he said loudly and the door cracked open, Sandor's head peaked through and saw that it was just Rory and Trisha.

Sandor couldn't help but glance over at the small girl in all her revealing glory, though she was less revealing than he was compared to his simple white towel. Even so, her silky camisole and shorts were enough to send any sane man into a fit of lust. Even Sandor could tell that Rory was trying not to take a peak, his counterpart trying to look at anything but her in her sultry pajamas.

"Here," Rory spoke with an impatient tone, pushing the large pile of clothes topped with boots into Sandor's arms and grabbing the door handle, slamming the door shut.

"Thank you, Rory," Trisha said to him, "we really need to take that guy shopping, you can't keep giving him your clothes," Rory nodded in agreement.

"I'll take him to my dealer," he said to her with a grin and she laughed.

"I'm gonna have to kick you out now, I need to put some clothes on myself or else we're gonna be later than we need to be," Trisha said with a laugh, pushing at his firm chest, effectively moving him towards the door.

"Alright, well if you get down in time, there'll be a hot chocolate waiting for you," he said to her and she hummed a sweet little thanks to him before closing the door behind him.

She ran to her bags and filed through her clothes, pulling out a long-sleeved striped shirt along with some black denim overalls and some socks with strawberries on them. "That'll do," she said to herself and she quickly took her pajamas off, aware that there was a giant man in her bathroom changing into his clothes as well.

Faster than she'd ever done before, she slipped her shirt and speedily pulled up her overalls, clipping them on and putting her socks on, shoving her feet into her only clean pair of boots left; a pair of black boots with fluffy insoles. Putting on a puffer jacket, she dug through her bag once last time for a lost pair of gloves. She yelped as she hurriedly brushed her hair, the scrunchie in her mouth almost working to muffle the sounds she was letting out every second or so.

Sandor suddenly exited the bathroom which gave the young girl a fright.

"Oh! Oh, good, you're decent. Well, erm, I can't find my gloves so let's go, we're gonna be late," Trisha said to him, gesturing for him to move to the door first so she can close it behind her. He stood in the hallway, unsure of what to do as Trisha ran back into the room and grabbed her shoulder bag, shoving her necessities and whatnot into the pocket. 

"Hold on just a second," she said to him without even looking his way, she ran into the bathroom and quickly brushed her teeth, tying it up into a tiny little bun then applying very light make-up.

"Okay, now I'm ready."

Together, they had a short and silent journey in the hallway, going down the elevator and into the foyer where most of the crew were already leaving. As various members of the crew hauled their bags and cases in their arms, they stopped at the sight of Sandor in civilian clothing, the director of photography sending him a disappointed shake of his head, the three familiar assistants still wide-eyed at the man in front of them, some of them leaning into each other with cupped hands and beginning to gossip between one another.

Sandor growled and most of them were sent on their merry way to finish off what they were doing, not interested in the idea of witnessing another rage fit from the rage monster himself. The director of photography, Gregory, lingered by and Trisha could sense that he was still uneasy and concerned about Sandor's presence, and Trisha could definitely sympathize with him.

Trisha glanced up at Sandor who was wearing a scowl on his face, overseeing every person that was walking about the foyer of the hotel, coming in and out to get ready for the trip back to the icy outback, he was truly standing there like a guard dog, but he was only guarding himself.

Inching her hand closer to his arm, she poked him and he didn't react to her in the way that she'd expected, he was surprisingly calm, "What do you want, girl?" he muttered to her, his eyes still glossing over the people unfamiliar to him.

"There's... A man, over there, do you see him? He has a bandage on his head," she said to him, nodding towards Gregory who had since turned his attention away from Sandor and was now overlooking some papers that someone had just brought to him.

"What about him?" Sandor said with an uninterested tone.

"I don't know how to put this, but... Erm, well you're the reason why he has that bandage..." she said to him, looking up at him and waiting for his response but there was no response, Sandor had acted like he didn't hear a single word from her.

Trisha cleared her throat, "And I think it would be a good idea if you'd apologize to him," she suggested and Sandor turned to her with a furrowed brow and leaned down to get to her height, his mouth near her ear, "I'm not going to apologize to that cocksucker over there, I don't apologize to cunts who get in my way," he murmured to her quietly which sent a shiver down her spine.

"You apologized to me. You apologized to me even when I was in your way," Trisha told him with a nervous gulp, referencing back to when Sandor had held her captive only a day ago, and Sandor had nothing to say.

"Here ye go, one hot chocolate," Rory said, joining them both and handing Trisha a disposable cup with her chocolatey goodness. "Thanks, McCann."

"Trisha! Good morning, dear!" someone in the crowd said aloud and Trisha found the source of the warm greeting, "Good morning, Richard!" she said to them, wrapping her free arm around his shoulder and giving him a one-sided hug.

"Beric?" Sandor said quizzically, looking over Richard's clothes with unfamiliarity.

"Oh shit," the shorter man chuckled, "Hey, Sandor, I'm Richard, I just... play Beric Dondarrion in the show."

Sandor scoffed, "Everyone's always playing something like this is a bloody game," he scowled before walking off on his own to do God knows what.

"Grumpy lad. True to his character though, you'll have to admit that," Richard said aloud and Trisha greed with a hum.

"We just need to give him time, that's all, this mustn't be easy for him," Trisha said, nudging Richard's arm with her elbow.

Richard sighed and put an arm around her shoulder, "Mustn't be easy for you either. How are you holding up around that big guy?" he asked her and she shrugged, "It's getting easier, that's for sure" she tells him and they chat about what they had on their schedule that day before gathering their things and getting ready to leave the hotel.

Trisha found Sandor sitting at the bar all by himself drinking straight from the bottle.

"How did you get that? The bar is closed," she questioned him and he swallowed his drink, "None of your business," he tells her nonchalantly, bringing the bottle to his lips and chugging it like it was water.

"It is my business because the hotel bills the company for what we take, and I don't know what they'd do if they found out that you've just stolen from them," she said frustratedly, moving to sit on the stool next to his. "Sandor, you're not in Westeros anymore, you can't just take what you want when you please. If you want something, you can ask for it and we'll try and help you-"

"You want to help me? You can start by shutting up those yapping those lips. It's getting on my fucking nerves," he grumbled annoyingly, causing Trisha to flare her nostrils and hold back a flurry of tasteful remarks.

"Put the bottle down, we have to leave," she said to him, turning her back from him and walking back to the foyer where Bob and Rory were waiting for them both.

"Good morn– Woah, hey, are you okay?" Bob said to her then saw how upset she was as she stormed past them both.

"I'm fine," she said to Bob, leaving him dumbfounded as he watched her quickly walk out of the hotel doors.

Sandor trudged to the lobby, Rory and Bob looked at the scarred man with raised brows. "What did you say to her?" Bob asked him with an irritated tone and Sandor scrunched his nose, "Nothing," he huffed.

Bob and Rory shared a knowing look of 'yeah, right' but they decided to postpone the issue as they were already going to be late, "Okay, well, let's go, we have to hurry."

Chapter Text

Trisha sat at the back of the van, staring out the window with her headphones in and ignoring the surroundings around her, lightly tapping the window to the beat of 'Everybody Loves Somebody' by Dean Martin and quietly humming to the relaxing tune. She held the takeaway cup of hot chocolate in her hands, basking in the warmth it provided her. Bringing it to her lips, she swallowed the warm chocolate drink whole and allowed it to warm her up inside.

She felt the seat next to her shift and she turned to see who it was.

She took out an earphone and greeted them warmly, "Hey, Kevin," she said to the blonde boy, "What's up?"

"Um, well Bob wants to put me in charge of minding Sandor," he gulped, looking at Trisha with a nervous look in his eye. "Got any advice for me? I don't know how to handle guys like him, you know... aliens and such," he told her and she sighed in contempt at the mention of the unkind giant.

She had done her best to get on good terms with Sandor, had tried to help and aid him on this difficult journey of being in a whole new world when she didn't even need to. Trisha owed him nothing and wasn't obligated to do anything for him, especially since he had nearly killed her, yet he still remained as rude, unkind, and stubborn as ever. Asshole, she thought to herself. Otherworldly or not, he could at least learn to adapt to the environment around him and try to change his attitude for the better. 

'Getting on my fucking nerves' she said in her mind, mocking the words he'd spoken to her earlier with a childish voice.

He'd diminished her confidence greatly, wounded her pride and she was annoyed that his meaningless words had gotten to her. And to think he'd been somewhat kind to her the night before.

And the fact that Bob had stuck poor Kevin with the job of minding that rude skyscraper was, albeit quite funny, not the best decision to make. But Trisha was beginning to see an opportunity here, an opportunity to spend more time with Sandor and see if there was something he wasn't telling them.

It wasn't a decision she wanted to make but she'd make the best out of it.

"Just forget it, I'll watch over him but you're taking over my on-set duties instead. Got it?" Trisha told him and he let out a big sigh of relief, clapping a shaking hand over his chest. "Are you sure? Doesn't he... Wouldn't he, um... Are you really sure? After what he did to you–" he questioned her and she placed a hand on his jittering shoulder.

"I'm sure. Now go before I change my mind... Oh, and can you put this in the trash?" she said to him in a snappy tone, not letting him finish what he was about to say. She gave him an apologetic look as she handed him the cup. Cutting him off and then asking him to do something for her, she felt a little guilty. The blonde boy only nodded with a tight-lipped smile before taking the empty cup from her hand and making the seat next to her vacant once again.

Through the tinted window of the van, she spied Bob escorting Rory and Sandor to their own separate vehicle and she could see Rory gesturing to the inside of the van, likely explaining what it was and how it worked, then she saw the two identical giants and Kevin stepping into their vehicle together.

Bob slapped the roof of their van and they left, only Bob and Trisha's enormous van left in the lot, tire tracks carved into the snow on the road ahead from all the other trailers and cars. 

Jumping into the vehicle, Bob sat on the seats near the door while Trisha stayed in her spot all the way at the back, and it was clear to Bob that she wanted some peace. Whatever Sandor had said to her, it's sticking to her and it was clearly getting on her nerves, Bob could tell that just by the solemn look on her face.

"I thought the giants were riding with us to set?" Trisha said aloud to her boss, still peering out the window as the van began to drive away, leaving the gray height of the hotel behind them.

"They were," Bob spoke to Trisha in a tired voice, "But it doesn't look like you wanna be in the same van as him right now, so we're putting that spare van to good use," he informed his assistant and she nodded at his words, indicating that she was listening to him.

"Listen, I'm trying my best to figure out what to do with him as well, but for now he's gonna have to tag along. I know it's not the easiest thing to have him around, but no one was prepared for this, least of all you," he said to her, Trisha finally looking in his direction and he gave her a sympathetic nod.

Trisha brushed away the hair on her face, "I'm watching over Sandor today, I've relieved Kevin of his duty."

"Relieved– His duty? Trisha, that isn't your decision to make. In fact, I made that decision because I didn't think you'd be comfortable doing it!"

"W-well, I'm not. But Kevin is understandably terrified of the guy, I don't want to put him through all of that because I guarantee that annoying bear of a man will get to him," she explained to Bob and he sighed at her with a knowing look.

"He got to you, didn't he? Isn't that why you stormed off this morning?" he asked her calmly and a swell of irrational anger came over her, though she didn't express that to him. She knew he was right. Helping a man like that was never going to be easy, especially in the beginning; having to taser him to keep his rage-filled and dangerous self subdued, his constantly rude manner made it all the more difficult to try and co-operate with him. His pride and sensitivity towards his masculinity were also clearly getting the better of him.

Trisha pursed her lips, figuring out what to say to her boss. "I just wasn't in the mood. I was on a call with my mother this morning and it was interrupted, I'm just particularly pissed off because I haven't spoken to her in a while, that's all."

The truth was that he really did get to her. Sandor's discourteous inclinations and insidious tones were something so unnatural for her to encounter, especially since it's not exactly something you come across often in the modern world. People in this day and age are just naturally inclined to be kind to others, to treat them with respect. Even though she knew that Sandor was from a completely different world, she still couldn't help but feel discouraged. Mean words are mean no matter where you are, he ought to know what he was doing.

Sandor had the true gift of making people feel insignificant and unworthy, a relatively sensitive guy like Kevin wouldn't be able to handle that kind of attitude for a minute, let alone for a whole day, she could just tell. Trisha wasn't sensitive herself persé, she definitely had the energy to deal with a guy like Sandor, not to mention she also has the moral upper hand. That was enough to tell her that she could try just a little bit more to figure out just how to communicate with a guy like him. But such rage, was that a Westerosi trait or just the trait of an ill-mannered giant with the biggest grudge in the world?

Well, she thought, I'd have a grudge like that if someone I was born to trust had done something horrible like that to me...

"Was that the only thing?" Bob egged on, trying to get the truth out of her but she stood her ground.

"Bob, please. Okay...You're right, is that what you want me to say? But I'm this close to figuring him out. He may be some character from a book or a tv show, but he's not anymore. He's his own entity and is acting at his own will for once, everyone needs to understand that," she told her boss in a rant, and he sighed at her clarification.

Trisha exhaled a deep breath, "I'll be minding Sandor, Kevin will take over my duties as your assistant. Just for today," she said to her boss and she felt weird giving him the command for once, Bob only rolled his eyes at her words.

"He's not my assistant, you are–"

"He's a production assistant, that makes him everyone's assistant," she retorted and she can see that Bob was hiding a snort.

"Fine," he told her finally, "I have to say, your plan is risky but the outcome could be really good. But if he ever tries to be an arse to you again, just know you're not obligated to help him out, you can leave that up to me."

"I never said he was an arse," Trisha said with raised brows.

"I know you didn't," he responded with a knowing smile, Trisha felt good knowing that he was aware of the situation she was in but still decided to let her do what she thought was best despite how precarious it seemed.

As Trisha felt the vehicle parking next to the barrage of others surrounding the set back in the icy deserts of outback Scotland, she peered out the window once more to see Rory, Sandor, and Kevin get out of their van under the shadow of the grey sky. Rory was chipper, seeking a lone spot where he could have a cigarette while Kevin followed Sandor nervously, glancing around himself to presumably look for the girl who had promised to trade places with him.

Sandor was as gruff as ever, eyeing everyone that was doing their job on set. Trisha looked around the set and saw the cameramen and gaffers working together, make-up artists bringing their kits into their trailers, script advisors pointing here and there around the desert.

Trisha saw that Sandor was looking at them with disdain, the foreign concepts being something so contemptibly foolish-like to him, which nurtured the feeling of distaste in her heart. Being in such disfavor of your new surroundings is a fathomable thought to her, especially when you understand the context of it all, but Trisha couldn't help herself.

She'd never seen such a constantly exasperated man before, and though his story may give him some leeway, Trisha also had the freedom to be at unease around him. He isn't exactly a man with a heart of gold, as she'd seen some fans say on their blog posts across many platforms. Although, when he wore that beanie and had a blank face rid of a scowl he appeared to be quite stoic and handsome.

Wait. No, she thought, Gods please give me the strength... Don't let these illicit thoughts disrupt my sane train of thought. The sane train forever and always.

"It's fucking cold," the scarred giant spat, his counterpart chuckled, "No shit," Rory replied to him, coming back from his quick little smoke break.

"Come," he continued, "It's warm in the trailer," he said, gesturing his hand to a trailer that had its lights on inside and two women on the outside having a loud conversation filled with gasps and guffaws. Sandor sneered.

"Not with those wailing fucking women," he said, turning his head away and looking to see Trisha exit the vehicle she was in, her head covered with the furlined hood of her jacket, her plump pink lips quivering and her body shaking as a chill wind passed over. She was coming his way and Sandor's natural instinct was to straighten his aching back and hold his head up high.

"Kevin, Rory. I've got it from here. You," she pointed at Kevin, "Can go and talk with Bob, and you," she pointed at Rory with a cheeky smile, "can go ahead and get all prettied up now."

"Like a Barbie," he responded with a toothy grin and off he went in the direction of the makeup trailer, "Oh thank God," Kevin muttered under his breath, sparing Trisha a sympathetic look before scuttling off to find Bob, leaving Sandor and Trisha to dote on what to do next while everyone is helping to set up the set.

Sandor didn't say anything, he had a frown on his face matched with a scrunched nose, his arms crossed over his chest for warmth, standing on the ice seemingly unmoving and he thought about the ride in the van with Kevin and Sandor. Kevin, much like any other squire he'd met, was obviously anxious and wary of how he spoke and moved to and around Sandor which somehow angered the giant even more.

"Stop squirming in your seat, boy," Sandor said in a menacing tone, watching Kevin in the seat in front of him gulp with wide-eyes and nod profusely. 

"U-uh, yes sir..." Kevin said, looking away from Sandor in embarrassment as his voice wavered. Sandor huffed through his nose and he saw how Kevin flinched at the abrupt sound.

"Leave him alone," Rory said aloud, stirring from his nap. 

Sandor grunted in dismay, leaning back in his leather seat and glancing out the window to see the view slip by with every second that went on, the scenery becoming one white blur.

His mind went into a frenzy, the same image of Trisha sitting outside the hotel bathing in the moonlight and the barely-there fog, the smoke escaping between her lips, her hair whipping around lightly in the breeze, her hands shivering in the cold. The scarred man bit the inside of his cheek with disappointment, uneasy with himself and his own rolling index of inappropriate thoughts, trying to be sycophantic over the repetitive imagery circling his brain.

Mostly, he was unsettled at how taken he was with this girl. For one thing, he definitely thought she was brave. He admitted that to her in his own words. She was held in his arms with a knife to her throat and still had the gall to try and offer her succor. Braver than most women he'd met. Sandor had the sense that she wasn't as fearless as he initially thought she was, but in the time she'd come to be in his presence, she was growing to be more courageous to his front.

It wasn't like she deserved the world for trying to take a stand in front of him, but she definitely deserved some recognition for her determination to aid a grouchy old dog like himself in these unordinary circumstances.

Then he had the incredible idea to bark at her earlier that morning, he felt the guilt consume him. Once again, she was offering her help and he bit back at her because he favored his silence and his looted liquor, it wasn't a good enough reason to be so discourteous, especially to her of all people.

Sandor was beginning to think she was one of the only people he could turn to in this world. Well, this world and his world.

This place, it was definitely different in some good ways but also in some bad ways. He missed how he was able to kill without dire consequence, steal without protest from the casualty, and he terribly missed how familiar he was with his own world. It comforted him knowing he knew where he was going, whatever path he was going to trek. 

But another comfort was knowing that in a world like this with such modern technological marvels, the society he had witnessed was one of compassion, a place where he didn't have to constantly fear over his own safety. Well, he feared for it when he was being tased multiple times but there was no vengeful house marching to the hotel with their bannerman or any of that dreadful fucking Wildfire. There was no war unfolding in his vision at the horizon, it was just white with ice and grey skies. He'd begrudgingly admit, this is nice.

Hopefully, there weren't any dreaded fucking wights of those small walls of ice. Oh, wait... They don't exist here. Just another reason to add to his pro list of this modern world.

"This world isn't so bad," Sandor said aloud, Trisha turned to him, confused with his random choice of words.

Nonetheless, she agreed, "Yeah, it's... really something else," she confessed, turning away from him. His eyes glanced over to her, seeing a small smile on her face as she looked over the bustling wonder that was behind-the-scenes. And while it wasn't silent in the surroundings around them, it was silent between them both as they both stood and stared at what was happening, and that was a silence that Sandor was not in favor of as it gave his mind the quiet it needed to roam and think of ill-suited things such as the small brunette girl crawling to him on her knees in nothing but thin sheets of silk–

"Girl," he said to her, catching her attention and she looked up at him with a hum, "that thing you showed me. In the room," he spoke to her quietly and she felt her cheeks turn pink.

Oh God, can he see in my dreams? That thing I showed him in the room? What kind of sadistic, perverted wizard is out there doing this to me-

"That magic mirror," he tried to explain but Trisha immediately understood what he was trying to say.

"Oh! You mean this?" she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket and revealing it to him.

"Yes," he said, eyeing it suspiciously in her hand.

"Well, it's not magic and it's not a mirror... Well, it can be, but– here, I'll show you," she said to him with a concentrated look on her face. Everyone around them buzzed with energy, transporting the appropriate things to the appropriate places, reading from their schedules, and fixing their clothes, meanwhile Trisha stood as close as she could to Sandor, showing her phone to him and explaining the mechanics of it.

Trisha first opened the camera app and as it unlocked, it revealed the ground beneath them appearing as though the screen was transparent. She moved the camera just a bit so the camera was on their shoes and she snapped a photo.

"So this is a camera. The purpose of it is that it captures an image, almost like creating an instant painting," she said to him and she flipped the camera around to the front, Sandor saw himself on the screen and grimaced. 

"No," he scowled.

"Ah, okay, that's fine," Trisha said with raised brows, closing the app and opening up another, "This is a torch app. It's pretty much just a light," she turned on the light and turned the back of the phone over to show the light beaming brightly.

Another source of light that isn't fire. Convenient and welcoming.

"I'll explain the rest of it later, I wanna show you around," she told him, taking the lead and walking towards the trailers.

Sandor trudged along quietly, his hands now in his pockets and glaring at any person unfortunate enough to have been ogling at him as he walked by. Trisha stopped in front of the very trailer that Rory was in, she peaked in through the door and saw that he was being scolded for throwing away the latex piece for his face, he protested but Sarah, the senior prosthetics coordinator, only pursed her lips at him with raised brows.

Trisha didn't know what Sandor would think about having his most insecure part of himself being put onto his counterpart's face so she turned to him and said, "We'll try another trailer, this one's busy."

Sandor rolled his eyes as she turned back around and hopped off the steps, walking to the trailer next door.

In that trailer, Richard Dormer, Paul Kaye who plays Thoros of Myr, Louis, Conroy, and Eamonn who were the remaining nameless members of the Brotherhood, were all sitting around and playing cards with some music blasting from a small speaker set on a vacant chair next to them. They were in the middle of sharing some laughs when Trisha knocked on the door with a sheepish smile.

"Hey boys," she greeted with a big smile on her face and they turned to the trailer door, their faces lit up and they threw their cards down on the small coffee table that they surrounded and stood up in their costumes.

"Trisha!" they all cheered synonymously, going forward to wrap their arms around her in a big group hug.

"I mean, I totally missed you guys too but it's only been like two days," she murmured in the hug and they laughed.

"Trisha," Richard said with a grin as they all pulled away, "Rich," Trisha responded, a cheek-hurting smile on her face.

"Hey, Trish," Paul said to her with a light laugh, "We didn't see you yesterday, everyone went to the Golden Trident last night, you should've come!" he told her enthusiastically and Trisha feigned a disappointed look.

"You guys went without me?" she gasped dramatically and they laughed together. For a moment, Trisha had her guard down and it was nice. That guard was the one that she held up in front of Sandor to not seem like a silly girl with a cold but understanding front, a front that Sandor would respect and not be so disapproving of. Though, she didn't know why she needed his approval at this point. Was she afraid that he would bite? 

She'd realized that she'd forgotten why she came to the trailer in the first place and quickly composed herself, turning to gesture to Sandor who was standing outside the trailer in a somewhat awkward manner, his expression a display of how confused he was with what had unfolded in front of him. It was almost an expression of disgust, seeing his former traveling companions behaving so differently.

"Guys, this is Sandor," Trisha told them with a shaky breath.

"Like..." Eamonn began to say, "Sandor Sandor or, uh..." he couldn't seem to finish his words as the very real Sandor was beginning to stare daggers into his soul.

Trisha cleared her throat, feeling the energy in the trailer die down a little bit, "Yes, Eamonn," she confirmed for him and she gave a face that said "Oh! Oh, okay".

"Thoros," Sandor said aloud, still standing outside the trailer, catching Paul's, or Thoros', attention. "Dull fucker," Sandor said to the man in the trailer, then he walked off.

Louis and Conroy snickered at the rather random remark, looking at Paul who had a frown and a confused smile on his face.

"What was that about?" Paul chuckled, looking at Trisha who shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sorry about that, I'm still trying to figure out how to have him... Like, not be such a grumpy old man," she explained regretfully and Paul nodded comprehensively.

"Don't fret on it, Trish, I understand," he said to her, putting a gloved hand on her arm and she felt the relief flood her system.

"Listen, we're going back to the Trident again tonight, we really want you to come this time," Richard said aloud, stepping between Paul and Trisha.

"Last night was just a drink for the first break we've had in a while, and tonight we'll drink to the episode wrap," he explained to her and she nodded.

She pretended to consider the request before breaking into a big smile, "Of course I'll come," she told them. Louis, Conroy, and Eamonn all cheered which made her break out into a cheerful laugh.

"Well, I've gotta go and find Sandor before he does something stupid," she told the Brotherhood quickly and they all gave her a warm farewell. She reluctantly exited the warm trailer with a shiver and went off to find the curious giant.

She found him a minute later, sitting on a wooden crate by himself, elbows resting on his knees and eyes closed, appearing to be deep in thought. Trisha slowly walked to him, not wanting to alarm him and she stopped in front of him.

"I don't belong here," he said to her, not even bothering to open his eyes to know that it was her standing there.

"I know," she said to him, moving to sit next to him on the crate.

He felt her radiating warmth envelope him, it was comforting but he was still downhearted with the situation he was in.

"Why am I here?" he asked her, looking at her with an expression that Trisha would call quiet desperation. Not quite showing it, but she could sense it under the front that he was giving her.

"I was kinda hoping that you would give me the answer to that," she confessed, looking away from him and up to the light skies.

"Of course, there's no logical explanation for this. The first thing we thought of that actually made sense was that you were just a crazy fan of the show on some serious kind of drugs," she told him with a lighthearted laugh though he didn't react at all.

"Perhaps the Gods are trying to punish me," he mentioned to her and she thought about his words for a moment.

"You might be on the right track. Maybe you're here for some mystical reason," she threw the possibility out into the air for consideration and she saw Sandor's nose scrunch. She could tell that he was trying his hardest not to swear.

"Back in Westeros, those poor cunts are probably eating each other alive. They're all doomed. It'll either be Cersei, the dragon queen, or the night king. All of those options are shit," he told her, looking up to the sky with her. "I could be there fighting, but I'm here instead."

"Aren't you tired of fighting?" Trisha intercepted, glancing at him and he sighed.

"Aye, girl," he drawled, turning his view to his hands in his lap, clenching and unclenching his hands. "But I'm not done just yet."

He gazed upon her in the grey light of the morning, her eyes still trained on the sky, her brown eyes glimmering in the sun's cloud-covered peak over the horizon. 

Trisha wanted to tell him that there was no fight. There was no Gregor Clegane, there was no Westeros, there was no Known World. But it wasn't easy telling someone that everything they knew was just a story. He knew that anyway, but constantly trying to remind him of it was a bore and a pain.

"Hopefully lightning will strike again. Maybe it'll take you back home," she told him and he inwardly scoffed with a small smile, quickly turning stone-faced again.

"Maybe," he repeated and they had a quiet moment together just gazing up at the morning sky.

Chapter Text

"Quiet on the set!" Bob shouted out in his chair under the director's tent, his attention focused on the monitor in front of him feeding him the camera's view of Rory and the Brotherhood on horseback, waiting for their call to start riding and say their dialogue.

"Strange seeing that fucker with my face," Sandor murmured to Trisha, leaning against a trailer with his arms folded across his chest, Trisha squinted her eyes to look up at him through the blaring light of the morning. "It would be weird if it wasn't," she told him, turning back to observe the scene beginning.

The 2nd assistant camera operator held the clapperboard up to the front of the camera and slapped the slate down, jogging behind the camera to let the scene ensue. The actors in front of the cameras cued for their horses to start their walk and then they began to do what they do best; act.

When the take was over, Trisha turned and saw Bob with Gregory having an animated discussion under their tent, she was sure she heard the mention of Sandor and what should happen to him if he somehow came to exist in the coming days. At the mention of his name, Trisha looked to her side to see Sandor watching the scene unfold, watching as the Brotherhood trudged alongside Rory on their horses.

He suddenly pushed himself off of the wall of the tent and turned away from the set, walking to... Well, she didn't know where. "Wait, where are you going?" she questioned him. 

Sandor bit his tongue for once, what he wanted to say was "None of your business!" but he knew that would bring up what he'd said earlier, something he'd regretfully said with an unpleasant tone. Instead, he opted for a delightful, "Fuck off."

It wasn't nearly as mean sounding as the tone he'd spoken to her in earlier, but she couldn't help but let the words sting, the feeling of being rejected again weighing over her head like a nasty cloud. "Okay," she replied to him, he didn't even bother to turn back around to look her in the eyes as she spoke to him, he just continued to walk.

"Cut!" Trisha heard Bob shout and she turned back to the scene to see Rory and the other lads dismount their horses, gripping the reigns and bringing the beautiful beasts to the minders.

"Trisha!" Bob called out to his assistant, "Come."

She looked around one more time to see if Sandor was nearby, but he was out of sight. Concern pumped in her chest, but she came to the director. "Yes?" she asked and Bob looked up at her, "Ah, there you are. I just wanted to ask if you could take Sandor away from the shooting for a bit. We've got a scene coming up where he's supposed to find the farmer and his daughter from season 4 dead from the winter. He's supposed to feel guilt and regret from robbing them when he'd last seen them, and I don't know if he's gonna react badly to it or not.

"Either way, I don't want any surprises if he finds out... Actually, I want you to ask him what he remembers last from his world so we can track down where in the timeline he's up to date with," Bob spewed to her quickly and Trisha raised her brows at the amount of information he'd just given her.

"Uh, yeah, of course. That's a great question. He just went for a walk but I'll find him in a beat," she told him with a thumbs up, turning on her heel to find the man who'd just stalked off.

Bob actually had a great point, they had no idea where he was in terms of the TV canon timeline and it would be a great help as to what he knows and what they'd have to keep away from him. It was still unclear to her if George Martin had any inclination to tell Sandor about his fate, as he was the only true person to know. Then again, was that an ethical thing to do? Would that be what Sandor wants? Would it even be beneficial to anyone to tell him his truth?

What Trisha really wanted to do was have a private talk with George to discuss some topics about Sandor.

She knows for sure that he wants to go back to Westeros, and why wouldn't he? This is a strange environment with insane technological advances, he isn't used to it and he probably never would be. A man like him is someone who is headstrong and reluctant to learn new things, especially to the scale that he would have to if he ever decided to stay.

Would he beg someone to kill him? He seems to be above begging. He's too prideful to do that.

But then again, he begged Arya Stark to kill him after his brawl with Brienne of Tarth. Things are different now though, aren't they?

"Nice going there, Mr. One Take," Trisha said to Rory as he walked past her, lightly punching him on his fur-clad arm. He smirked and snickered, "It was the horses," he responded in his thick Scottish accent with a grin. She snickered as she watched him walk away as he and the rest of the crew migrated to the next shooting location, which wasn't that far away. It was a rock-throw away.

Trisha found herself weaving through the crowding crew members, searching for Sandor who had seemed to sulk away. That was an amusing thought. A big, reluctant giant whinging like a child out of pure boredom or out of pure spite.

"Sandor!" Trisha shouted out briefly after not being able to find him after a few minutes of searching, her heart beginning to race and panic beginning to set in her chest. "Oh God," she murmured to herself, spinning in circles.

I never should've let him walk off, what if something happened to him? she thought to herself trepidly. Or, more accurately, what if something happens to someone unfortunate enough to cross his path?

"Shit..." She said aloud to herself, biting her lip anxiously, a frown adorning her face as she continued to patter around the trailers, whipping around every corner to find him.

Suddenly, the young brunette girl froze on the spot as she heard a loud crash behind her which was coming from the place where the new filming location was. The set for the Riverland farmer's house. She hoped to God that Sandor didn't happen to stumble upon it. To her, his reaction was unpredictable. Hopefully, he wouldn't be angry. Or hopefully, it was just a prop accident, maybe some heavy machinery toppled over and created that barrage of noise.

She turned with bated breath and saw that she was right, a trailer with a lot of equipment had toppled over from a jagged, white rock that almost seemed invisible until someone kicked the rock, revealing a dark grey stone peaking out from beneath the snowy surface.

Her mini heart attack was beginning to subside, but she was wondering... If it wasn't Sandor that made that huge noise, then where was he?

Trisha turned on her feet again and ran behind the vacant trailers to see Sandor sitting on a large, smooth rock, staring out into the open desert once again.

"Oh, there you are," Trisha huffed, bending over to place her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "Can't you give me some damn peace?" he grunted angrily, flaring his nostrils in annoyance.

The young girl rolled her eyes and tucked her hands under her arms, hopping on the spot to maintain some warmth. "Well, you wandered off without telling me where you were going so I had to come and look for you," she told him in an equally annoyed tone, he seemed to notice her stiff and shivering posture and softened a little bit, glancing at her with a raised brow then back to the open, icy nothingness.

"We should be finished soon then we can go back to the hotel and just... I don't know, drink, I guess," she told him with a stuttering jaw, "And I suppose you can go back to your room and do whatever."

"We should've stayed there in the first fucking place. No furs or anything to keep us warm and those cocksuckers back there with all the cloaks while I'm over here freezing my balls off," he snarled and sniffled, sitting on his rock like a lion leading his pride.

Trisha ignored his complaint and moved slowly to sit behind him on the rock, making sure not to rouse him. She wondered where his softer self had gone, the one side of him that had apologized to her at the jazz lounge, the side of him that bit his tongue and admitted to her that he thought she was brave, where had that side gone? His forever changing mood would sway her world for the worst, she swore it.

As she sat there behind him on his rock, his warmth radiating off of him, she was beginning to think that maybe he was bipolar. It was a bit of a stretch, but not that far of a stretch. She recalled the moments where he would be gentle with the Stark girls then be rude to them a minute later. That was just even more evidence piling on to her suspicions.

"We'll go back to the trailers and wait for them to finish," Trisha offered quietly, turning around on the rock to face in his direction. A pregnant pause passed and Sandor finally stood to his feet, Trisha quickly followed his suit and they walked together back to the clump that was trailer town in search of warmth.

"I know it's silly to ask this-"

"Then don't ask," Sandor replied firmly.

Trisha sighed and jogged to catch up to him, "I mean I want to ask you something that might be quite pointless,"

"Then don't ask, woman."

The young girl rolled her eyes at his abrasiveness, "Do you know if there are any instances that may have occurred with a person of... magical expertise? Someone you may have angered, someone that may want to do something as heinous as teleporting you to an alternate dimension?"

Trisha cringed at the wording of her question, knowing his answer would be something blunt and rude. 

"I don't fucking know, woman. Now would you shut up and let me walk in peace?" he stated frankly, looking at her with annoyance before picking up his speed.

"Hey Trisha," Kevin quipped cheerfully and Trisha only had the energy to plop down next to him on the couch in one of the vacant trailers. "Woah, you okay?" Kevin asked her, his tone laced with concern.

She sighed and leaned on his waiting shoulder, pouting, and thinking about the inevitable. "I've been dreaming about Sandor," she admitted quietly and she could feel Kevin slowly nodding. "That's... A little weird, but it's not that weird unless it's-"

"It's sexual. It's also weirdly sensual, like really weirdly sensual," she added, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

"Okay," Kevin paused, "That's a little weird but the links between dreams and real life are hazy. And though it may be a bit weird, it's not as weird as the fact that he's, like, existing right now somehow."

Strangely, Kevin's opinion was calming. "I don't even know why I told you that. It's probably just the stress of the past few days piling on me and I think I might actually be going crazy for a real one," Trisha groaned, Kevin only nodded and listened.

"I apologize in advance if I spew any details about my Sandor related dreams in the future, I promise it's not on purpose," she mumbled on his shoulder and he sighed, patting her back comfortingly.

"It's okay," he replied and she felt unbelievably relieved. The relief she felt was immense and she was just glad that he wasn't being judgemental towards her. "Thanks," she told him, patting his leg.

"Don't worry about it," he smiled at her, putting his hand atop of hers.

Chapter Text

The day on set had gone by smoothly. No more accidents had occurred and Sandor was out of the way when the shooting at the Farmer's set had proceeded, so the workday had passed through like a quick breeze.

At the hotel, everyone was getting ready to go to the pride of this town, the local pub Golden Trident. Rory agreed to help watch Sandor while they were at the pub so she could at least enjoy a bit of free time without the burden of babysitting a bored beast. Trisha was reluctant, not wanting to inhibit Rory's own free time but he insisted he was okay with it.

In her own room, Trisha was putting on a black turtle neck to cover the scar on her neck which was healing quickly but it was irritating when she'd move her head too far in a certain direction. She decided on a black silk pleated skirt that ended just above her knees, which she admitted made her legs look nice, she also admitted she'd risk the cold just to feel good in the outfit she chose.

Black platforms and socks, black winter coat and some golden jewelry completed her look, she admired herself in the mirror and felt happy with the way she looked for the first time in a long time. Trisha was hoping to catch the eye of any cute guy that crossed her way, maybe flirt for a bit and have a drink then head back to the hotel by herself. It seemed like a good and simple plan.

With one last evaluation, she exited her room and placed her keycard into a small black shoulder bag, checking one last time to see if she had all her necessities. Phone, keys, small portable phone charger, and gum. Regrettably, she spotted her packet of cigarettes which also encased her lighter. It was a bit too late to put it back in her room so she turned to leave the corridor and was startled.

"Oh my God," she screeched, clutching at her chest and feeling the race of her heartbeat. "Settle down, woman," Sandor rolled his eyes at her outburst. He'd only been standing outside her door for... 4 minutes.

"Jesus Christ, why didn't you say something?" she scowled at him, reorganizing her clothes. "Change your clothes, it's too cold out there," Sandor said to her, ignoring her question.

"What? No, this is fine–"

"No it's not," he argued, grabbing her arm "Change."

Trisha glared at him and ripped her arm out of his hold. "I'm fine with what I'm wearing. If you're not, then you can look away and mind your own business," she sassed him, not fully aware of the attitude she was giving him. No guy had ever said something like this to her, it was always something she'd see in movies and scoff at because of the ridiculousness of it all.

Sandor huffed through his nose, his eyes engaged with hers for a few moments before he tore them away and walked towards the elevator. Trisha let out a sigh of relief and felt a bit self-conscious due to the outcome of that short, bitter argument.

The elevator ride was quiet and awkward, Sandor looking anywhere but at Trisha. Does this outfit make me look like the office mattress? she asked herself, I sure hope not... He can't even look at me. I don't even know why he's so pressed! Aren't there thousands of bare women from where he's from? Why is this one outfit annoying him so much? It's not like my physical wellbeing is well and truly of his concern.

As Trisha continued to question her outfit and Sandor's opinions, the elevator door opened to reveal a parade of the cast and crew in some casual wear, ready for the short trek to the Golden Trident.

"Trisha! You look great," Richard cheered, stepping forward to embrace her in a warm hug, "You ready?" he asked her and she nodded in response, a wide grin on her face.

"As ready as ever," she told him and he offered his arm to her, which she linked with her own. Someone stalked up behind her and said, "I've got this one," it was Rory. Trisha turned her head to see Rory swinging his arm around Sandor's shoulders, to which he immediately shrugged off and said: "The fuck are you doing?"

Rory laughed and instead opted to raise his hands in surrender, "Relax, come with me," he told him and the twins walked off together in their own direction.

"Come along then, love," Richard said to her, smiling widely. "Come along I will," she responded with a snicker.

And off the GoT pack went, all walking together to the Golden Trident which was only a couple hundred meters away which was very convenient who those who planned on getting decently drunk.

Once the doors to that pub opened, everyone cheered and soon enough the drinks were flowing. Everyone swarmed to their respective areas. Some went straight for the booths with their jugs of beer, others lined the bar and the playful bunch found themselves around the pool tables. From the pool table in the corner, Trisha saw that Rory had put Sandor in a stool next to him at the bar, they were both hunched over the mugs in an identical fashion which made her giggle.

"Alright Trisha, looks like you and Kevin are stripes, Paul and I are solids," Richard informed them and Kevin hiccupped, responding with a cheeky "Yeah, solid poo."

"Sweet burn, Kevin," Trisha said while patting his back. He bowed to her and snorted, "Thank you, madam."

Trisha laughed and applied the chalk to the tip of her cue stick, bending over the table with her eye concentrated on her ball of choice.

"Geez, would you look at the ass on that one?" a drunkard fool spluttered aloud, his drunken words falling on the ears of a very disinterested Sandor. He'd been abandoned by Rory who had left to the bathroom... Another wonder that Westeros could find very useful.

"I don't care," Sandor murmured, lifting his mug off the countertop and chugging the rest of his drink in a single motion, signaling to the bartender for a refill.

"She's pretty isn't she?" the drunk man continued to spout.

Sandor rolled his eyes, not even bothering to look at who the drunkard was so enamored with. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked, annoyed that he was the target of ear abuse.

"Oh, I just have quite the affinity for pretty little things," the drunk man answered, wiping the drool off his chin with his drenched sleeve. Sandor scowled at the filthy state of the man.

"A reckless mutt like yourself ought to stay away from pretty things," Sandor said to him, taking a gulp of beer down with his breath.

"My friend," the drunkard chuckled, "I'm not your friend," Sandor stated frankly. "My friend, the only thing that's gonna be reckless here is my tongue on her tight little cunt," the drooling fool slapped Sandor's back with a blubbering guffaw.

Sandor grunted in distaste, "Touch me again and I'll rip your fucking head off," he grumbled lowly to the drunk man who quickly raised his hands in defense.

"Are you always such a grumpy dog?" the drunkard asked Sandor who only glared in return, "Okay, tough guy," the drunkard rolled his eyes.

"I'm going to get myself a slice of that sweet little cherry pie," he slobbered one last time before stammering to his feet.

Sandor swallowed the rest of his drink, content with his newly found freedom from that blubbering, drunken fool. Sandor's eyes soon found themselves following the man around the bar, watching as he tripped up multiple times on his twisted path to who he soon discovered was the young girl he found himself to be acquainted with, Trisha.

Without so much as a warning, Sandor saw the drunk man's hand rear back and slap Trisha's arse, roughly groping her bottom cheek which caused her to jump back in surprise. Something ignited deep in Sandor and it made him stomp out of his stool, pushing anything and anyone that was in his way.

"Well aren't you a pretty little bird?" the drunk man grinned, revealing his yellowing teeth which immediately settled even more disgust in the young girl in front of him.

Richard, Kevin, and Paul were about to step in and deal with the man until Sandor swept in and grabbed the drunk man by his collar, dragging him out of the pub. The drunken fool was loudly spluttering and clutching at his neck to relieve the pressure that was placed on his neck by his collar, his feet kicking at the ground.

The sight horrified Trisha, who couldn't seem to move from her place next to the pool table. Everyone seemed to filter outside to see what Sandor was doing to the man, everyone but her.

She heard loud punching, groaning, and yelling. Her eyes were shut but all she could see behind her closed lids was an enraged Sandor pounding at the smaller man's face with his fists. "What's going on? Where is everyone?" She heard someone say and she opened her eyes to see Rory, who was zipping up his pants.

"I was in the bathroom," he added then stopped talking once he noticed Trisha's shaking. "Wait, where's..." Rory began to say then he pieced the puzzles together and he was running outside to the commotion. Trisha was shaking in the spot, her eyes watering and her legs threatening to give out below her. The memory of the slap still stinging the flesh of her buttock, a reminder of what had just occurred.

"Stop," she said aloud to no one, "Stop."

She slowly stepped closer to the door, her chest rumbling and her feet tingling. "Stop," she said louder but no one could hear her over the noise of the scuffle and shouts from the onlookers.

"Stop, stop, stop," she said again, pushing through the crowd to see Richard and Rory trying to pull Sandor off of the drunk man who now laid unconscious in a pool of blood. Richard and Rory both had each of Sandor's arms, but that didn't stop him from kneeing the dazed man in the gut. "I'll kill you, you fucking bastard!" Sandor roared, spitting on the drunk man's bloodied face.

"I said stop it!" Trisha screamed like she never had before, getting everyone to quiet down and effectively turning the attention on herself.

Sandor immediately looked up at her and saw just how shaken up she was at the sight of the commotion. He looked back down at the man below him, his face was bruised and puffy, the skin laden with cracks and cuts. Sandor looked at his own hands and saw the split knuckles and how they were drenched in his own blood and the blood of the man beneath him. He stood to his feet with the help of Richard and Rory and he looked around at all the people who were watching.

Trisha went back into the pub and Kevin quickly followed her.

"Are you okay?" Kevin asked her, watching as she put her coat back on and swung her shoulder bag over her head. "Walk," she said to him with a sniffle, grabbing his arm and sneaking behind the crowd to leave the area.

When she was sure they were alone in the streets, she stopped and cried into his chest, hugging him tightly. "Shh, shh, it's okay, you're okay," Kevin comforted her, rubbing her back gently and swaying with her in the streets. She couldn't believe what just happened. The night started off great. The drinks were flowing, laughs were being shared, games were played but that stupid drunk just had to ruin it.

Trisha easily could've played that off by having him escorted out by the bartender, but Sandor took it to an extreme. It was far too extreme. For all she knows, she could've been looking at a dead man in that street.

He did that just for her, to... protect her. If you could even call that protecting. She didn't want any of it, she didn't want whatever that was. 

She asked herself where it would go from here, after what she just saw him do to that foolish man.

Chapter Text

Trisha was at the hotel bar with Kevin by her side, he was rubbing her back comfortingly while she sipped on her sprite.

"You should rest after this, Trisha. You need it," Kevin told her and she released out a shaky sigh, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I just...I'm just processing a few things right now."

She'd seen a helpless drunk being pummeled by a man she had tried to become close with and it racked her soul. It was so violent and the scene alone almost made bile rise in her throat. Surely seeing something like that on TV would be easy to overcome, but seeing something like that in real life was really hard, it was, and every time she closed her eyes, that was all she could see.

What happened to that man totally surpassed what happened to her, and it was beyond what he deserved.

Just then, the doors to the hotel opened and she realized that a lot of the staff were coming back from the Golden Trident pub. They were in their respective groups, having animated conversations with each other.

Trisha just knew they were talking about that messy one-sided brawl that had occurred earlier.

The young girl didn't have a sight on Rory, Richard, or Sandor and she was curious as to where they were and what they were doing.

"You better be glad he's not dead you dumb fucker," Rory spat at Sandor who was still writhing with adrenaline. "He should be. I was just going easy on him."

Rory grabbed him by the lapels on his jacket and pushed him up against a large oak tree, roughing him up, "Why? Because he slapped a girl's arse? When something like that happens here, you give em' one punch and you throw 'em out the bloody door, you don't fucking kill them," he growled.

Sandor was huffing through his nose. It was unlike him to care about the wellbeings of others, let alone someone he barely knows in a world he knows even less about. So why did he do that? If something like that would've happened in Westeros, he wouldn't bat an eye, let alone charge at them and grab them by the scruff like a dog.

He only looked away from Rory, instead opting to turn his attention to the sidewalk. Rory let him go and patted the jacket down to smooth it over. 

"I think we ought to talk to the crew and see what they think we should do, I don't even know what we're supposed to tell the police," Richard said aloud. While Rory lead the way, Richard walked beside Sandor and said to him, "I know how tough you are, or at least act like you are but you aren't invincible here. There will be some serious repercussions after what happened. Plus, you have to think about me, too. Every silly little fucking thing you do comes back to me because, in case you don't remember, you're not supposed to fucking exist!"

"Fuck off," Sandor grunted in response.

As they came to the hotel, Sandor thought to make a beeline for the bar but when he passed the entrance, he saw Trisha leaning on Kevin in the elevator. She looked up and made eye contact with him before the doors closed and Sandor felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight.

Rory sighed and pulled him to the closed elevator doors and pressed the button. "No more drinking tonight," he said briefly. Sandor rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

The doors opened and Sandor was glad to find that it was empty.

While walking down the corridor to his room with Rory by his side, he heard laughter. It was unmistakably hers, but it was in chorus with a much deeper tone. Kevin. Sandor inwardly growled at the thought of what was going on behind that door across from his. He was annoyed that he was annoyed by it.

Rory walked to the armchair in the corner of his room and took it upon himself to relax from the long trek to the hotel. "I'll bring you some more clothes in the morning but that's about it. I'll take you to the shops so you can have your own clothes."

Sandor only nodded in response, kicking off his boots next to his bed and taking his own seat.

"I noticed that you still have the lights on," Rory said to him.

The scarred man raised an eyebrow as if to say, "so what?"

Rory sighed, "You can turn them off by flipping this switch," he said, walking to the light switch next to the doorway and flipping it up. The lights died out and the room was bathed black. Rory flipped the switch back on and the room was lit again.

"I'll see you in the morning," Rory said to him one last time before closing the door. Sandor got up from his seat and made his way to the bathroom, the light still on from the past few days.

Sandor twisted the knob on the tap and let the water wash the blood from his hands, he gently rubbed around the openings in his skin. The sight of his own hands let the ringing of Trisha's protests invade his mind.

"I said stop it!"

He'd gone all his life pillaging and brutally killing people, innocent or otherwise, and never did their beggings stir him. He did what he did to please his superiors and himself. He refused to give into to the pleas of those he was inflicting pain upon. He never stopped.

So why did he listen?

Why did he listen to her pleas, why did he stop?

This world was changing something in him and he didn't like it.

Sandor looked into the mirror above the sink and saw a reflection of himself. His hair looked softer from the conditioners, his skin was free of filth from the soaps and he generally looked healthier. The one thing he hated seeing in that mirror was his face. The melted, scarred skin, the permanent remainder of his own blood's betrayal.

A sudden urge coursed through him and next thing he knew, his arm was raised, his fist was clenched and it was soon meeting the mirror at a violent speed. The clash of glass reverberated the walls, the shards bouncing into the sink, breaking the skin of his hand even further.

Stupid fucking mirror, he thought to himself with a piteous groan.

"Now look at this one," Kevin said to Trisha with a wide grin, his thumb moving to swipe on the screen revealing another funny video.

"Oh my god, ew!" she exclaimed, laughing at the ridiculous content he was showing to her. Once she collected herself, she sighed and swung her arm around his neck. "Thanks for this, I really needed it," she told him and he only shrugged. 

"It's fine, really," he assured her. "Ah, man I've got to go. It's getting pretty late," he said, looking at the time on his phone.

Trisha pouted, "Yeah, you're right. But I'll definitely catch you in the morning for breakfast, okay?" she asked him and he nodded, smiling at the prospect of what tomorrow had to bring.

They got out of the bed and she opened the door for him, hugging him one last time. Suddenly, a loud crash was heard and she recognized that it was coming from Sandor's room. Kevin jumped, startled from the thunderous clash of what sounded like glass breaking.

"What was that?" she asked Kevin and he just shook his head.

He grumbled and said, "Just ignore it. The guy really needs to cool off. We'll just see how he is in the morning," he said to her and she agreed with him. Trisha bid him a final farewell and closed the door. 

Hopping on her bed, she couldn't help but feel curious... Distressed in the very least, thinking about what Sandor could be doing at that moment. What was he thinking? How was he feeling? She felt guilty even trying to consider his feelings at that moment because should he even really be considered? Was he worth the consideration after what he did? 

A guy like that surely has some remorse for the things he does, despite how normalized it all may be from the constant exposure to it all. Was he remorseful from what he did to that man? She had to find out, or at least make sure that he was. Just because he came from a violent world doesn't mean he can't try and adapt to this new, less violent world he's come from.

She waited just long enough to make sure that Kevin was out of the hallway and she stepped out of her room, knocking on Sandor's door.

"Fuck off," Sandor grumbled at the knock on the door, washing his hands in the glass filled sink then grabbing a soft hand towel to dry off his hands. The knocking on the door was gentle but persistent. With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, he opened the door and found Trisha standing in front of him, her hands wringing by her front nervously.

"I was just-"

"I punched the mirror."

"Wait, you what? Why?" Trisha's brows furrowed in confusion, pushing past him and walking to his bathroom. "So that's what that noise was," she murmured, peering around the bathroom to see the extent of his damages. "Why did you do that?" she asked him, turning to him and looking at him with a hesitant look.

Sandor's eyes fell to the floor, unsure of what to say. Your panicked voice sent my fist flying into the mirror? I'm mad at myself for making you upset? I'm mad at myself for being an ugly fucking dog? "I saw a rat."

Trisha raised her brows in suspicion, "Where is it now?" she asked him, leaning her weight onto one leg and crossing her arms over her chest with an expectant expression. "It's dead. You can go back to your room now, woman," he grunted, waving her away towards the door.

"Why are you lying to me, huh? You must've had a reason other than seeing an obviously fake rat," she scoffed.

Sandor clenched his jaw and stomped his foot on the ground, "Give it up, will ya?"

"Why'd you punch the mirror," she persisted with a determined look in her eye.

"Yer doing my fucking head in and I want to sleep," he snarled at her, returning her determined look.

"Oh! I'm doing your head in? Do you need to be reminded of what you did earlier? You almost killed someone! Do you know how terrifying that was to see? Do you know how awful it was to see how bloody and horrid his face was after you beat him? Sure, I was shaken after what he did to me and he deserved punishment but not that... Not that," she exhaled shakily, covering her mouth with her hand to prevent her cries from escaping. Tears slowly filled her eyes as the memories of what occurred tonight covered the back of her eyelids, cursing her vision every time she blinked. She gulped down her whines and stepped to him, poking his chest with her index finger in anger.

"I don't even know why I keep bothering. I don't. I keep coming back in here and sure, things will be fine for a minute but the rest of the time I spend with you is horrible. I hate that you can't even try to pretend to be like a civilized person! All you can say is shit and fuck and cunt, that's literally your entire vocabulary. I hate it!" she ranted, continuing to jab her finger into his chest. 

He couldn't find the energy to confess to her so he just let her take her anger out on him, standing there all unmoving and motionless.

"Fuck you, Sandor," she scoffed, turning on her heel to leave his room. 

Instinctually, he reached out to her and he grabbed her by the wrist. "Let go of me," she told him, trying to tug her arm away. His grip only tightened which alarmed her. "Trisha, please–"

"You're hurting me!" she cried out and he immediately let her go. He looked at her with concern, watching as she pulled her arm to her chest, grasping at her sore wrist.

She turned quickly and bolted for the door. He stepped in front of her and placed his hand on the door, "Wait!"

"Let me go, Sandor–"

"Just fucking wait, woman!" he yelled at her, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. "Fuck..." he mumbled, looking at her frightened face, a single tear strolling down her cheek. He raised his hand and she flinched, blinking quickly. He felt a pang in his chest at her earnest reaction, though he continued to wipe the tear away from her cheek. "I'm sorry, okay?" he told her honestly.

"I'm not the one you should be sorry to," she told him quietly.

"I'm saying it to the only fucking person that matters right now," he replied, looking down at his feet, trying to find the words to say to her without ruining the moment.

He sighed quietly, "I didn't mean to... I just got mad. I think that's pretty fucking obvious, but it's the truth. You know I'm not used to this world, I would've killed that fucker if you hadn't... Stepped in. I will try... harder, in the future." 

She looked up at him with an unreadable expression, the only sound filling the room being their synced breathing. He would try harder? She'd cut him some slack since it was only his second day being here but she was still incredibly shaken and disappointed because of what he did. Did he expect her to thank him for nearly killing that guy? She would've been thankful had he just thrown the guy out but he'd taken it to the extremes which was very overwhelming not just for her, she's sure, but for everyone that had to witness it all.

Deep down, she knew that apology was very hard for him to let out. She understood just how stubborn and hardheaded he was, so apologizing like that must've been very huge for him. Not that he deserved points for it, it was a pretty shit apology by median standards.

Looking to her feet, she swallowed and let out a shaky sigh. "Just... clean up the glass," she told him quietly, ducking under his arm and opening the door, leaving him in his room, kicking himself internally for being such a hotheaded fucking idiot that just can't find the right words.

Shutting her door behind her, Trisha flopped down onto her bed and silently cried into her pillow. She'd just embarrassed herself in there. She should've just listened to Kevin and stayed in her room but she just couldn't help herself. She was impulsive and caring by nature, mix that with a fictional character come to life and you have a huge fucking mess that is too tiring to deal with.

"Come for me," his voice called out to her in a blur. 

"Sandor," she moaned, twisting her body to feel closer to his larger one, her small hands roaming his chest.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Trisha woke up in her clothes from the previous night, sticky with sweat as a result of the good... bad dream.

"Fucking hells," Sandor grumbled to himself, flipping the covers off to cool himself off.

"What was that dream?" they both asked themselves with an internal groan.