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Night Six
Stannis Baratheon smiled to himself as he walked the streets of Dragonstone. He'd paid a visit to somebody last night and was pleased to have had her bend the knee. She'd looked good down there.
Almost as good as Melisandre.
Elsewhere, the man who'd intended on killing him instead found himself with a purse full of gold and a new target in mind.
The crippled Stark boy was up ahead with his swamp rat allies.
"Your sister sends her regards," the Houng growled as he took out his sword.
"HODOR!" roared the half-giant who threw himself out of the snow bank and tackled Clegane. The Hound had thought his brother was the biggest man in the Seven Kingdoms, but he was wrong.
It was all he could do to fend off the giant's clumsy blows and get the hell out of dodge.
Almost as good as Melisandre.
Elsewhere, the man who'd intended on killing him instead found himself with a purse full of gold and a new target in mind.
The crippled Stark boy was up ahead with his swamp rat allies.
"Your sister sends her regards," the Houng growled as he took out his sword.
"HODOR!" roared the half-giant who threw himself out of the snow bank and tackled Clegane. The Hound had thought his brother was the biggest man in the Seven Kingdoms, but he was wrong.
It was all he could do to fend off the giant's clumsy blows and get the hell out of dodge.
Sandor Clegane is not dead. He is Sandor Clegane, ??? Aligned Hound.
In the wake of Hodor's surprising appearance, the air grew cold as not one, but two White Walkers came out of the darkness.
One of them, wearing a crown of ice and with hate in his eyes, bore down on Hodor with ferocity. The other, freshly returned from Dragonstone, found himself plucking some kind of dart from its throat. Such a fragile thing couldn't possibly kill one of the walking dead.
Hodor, on the other hand, had finally met his better.
One of them, wearing a crown of ice and with hate in his eyes, bore down on Hodor with ferocity. The other, freshly returned from Dragonstone, found himself plucking some kind of dart from its throat. Such a fragile thing couldn't possibly kill one of the walking dead.
Hodor, on the other hand, had finally met his better.
??? is dead. He was Hodor, Independently Aligned Hodor.
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And Sansa Stark, her hands perhaps roaming a little below the equator, thought of the sellsword with the colourful hair. Not that it did him or her any good.
And Sansa Stark, her hands perhaps roaming a little below the equator, thought of the sellsword with the colourful hair. Not that it did him or her any good.
