Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/730204.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Song_of_Ice_and_Fire_-_George_R._R._Martin
  Relationship:
      Tyrion_Lannister/Tysha, Sandor_Clegane/Tysha, Sandor_Clegane/Sansa_Stark
  Character:
      Tyrion_Lannister, Sandor_Clegane, Gregor_Clegane, Tysha_(ASoIaF), Tywin
      Lannister
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-03-21 Words: 2658
****** Broken Things ******
by Prefiera_de_Gryfalco
Summary
     Despite both being associated with the Lannisters and both being
     social outcasts, both Tyrion Lannister and Sandor Clegane seem to
     hate each other quite profoundly. Why does Tyrion hate Sandor? Why
     does Sandor hate not only Tyrion but seem to think the worst when he
     hears Sansa is now married to the Imp?
     This dark one shot explores why that might have been years ago in the
     past during the rape of Tysha by the Lannister house guards. Some
     lightly implied San/San, but she is not directly a character.
On a bright, warm afternoon in the Westerlands, a tall and sturdy youth, barely
a man grown but already filling out like a young bull, was practicing the joust
by himself in full plate.  A tourney celebrating the first nameday of the new
young prince was in a few days and he wanted to get in as much practice wearing
full armor.  With single minded precision, he swung the horse around again and
again after each reset, pounding down the earth to obsessively strike the
quintain with the heavy training lance. The dark bay horse was perspiring as
much as his rider with the repeated exertion, so finally he slowed the animal
and dismounted smoothly.  Removing his helm and gauntlets, he tied the horse up
to a post.  He cupped his hands into a nearby barrel of collected rainwater and
splashed his face.  He then shook his long lank, sweaty hair like a retriever
just after pulling waterfowl from a lake.  The loose dark hair was wiped off
his brow and raked back into place over the left side of his ruined face with
long fingers.  The scars formed rivulets in which the water traveled as it sped
toward the ground.
He took the reins of the horse and walked it to his liege lord's stables in
silence as he replayed the strikes in his mind, not even acknowledging the curt
nods from household servants he passed on the way back.  He had a reputation
for being quiet, if not downright sullen, so this was nothing new to anyone in
Casterly Rock.  Satisfied the horse was appropriately cooled down, he removed
most of the tack.  He methodically picked its hooves, looking for signs of
stones or cracks in the hoof.  He wiped the horse down with a piece of chamois
leather, speaking softly just under his breath to the dark bay as he worked. 
The horse whickered in response and the young man led the horse back to the
stall so it could drink.
The jeering and laughing of a growing throng of household guards echoed through
the training yard and disrupted his thoughts.  The group of guards was larger
in numbers than it had been of late, as Queen Cersei of House Lannister was
visiting her father and other kin at the Rock to present the young future king
Joffrey Baratheon, just barely out of infancy, to the realm for his first
nameday.  Accompanied by her brother Jaime, Cersei's household guards from
King's Landing were present to watch over the queen in addition to Lord
Tywin's. 
Now a member in training to the Lannister house guard, Sandor had left his home
of Clegane's Keep four years earlier and had not seen it since.  Good
riddance.  He was glad of the afternoon off to train by himself, as was his
preference, and he appreciated the queen's visit to Casterly Rock as a
diversion from the stink of King's Landing.  Morose by nature and already
having a fearsome reputation with his first kill at age twelve, Sandor
preferred to train by himself when he could.  Few of the other younger lads
training in the Lannister household guard wanted the company of the ferocious
young warrior with the twisted scars.  They said he was nearly as skilled with
both sword and lance as Jaime Lannister himself and certainly a full head
taller than Jaime at the same age.  He was being groomed to be Cersei's sworn
shield and in time would certainly protect the young crown prince himself when
his training was complete.  For this opportunity, he was extremely grateful to
his liege lords.
Despite his impressive early success both on the training field and the battle
field, Sandor's grandfather, landed knight though he may be, was merely a
kennel master.  Sandor was seen as an upstart by the young lordlings and far
above his station by the sons of miners, merchants, farmers, and so on.  In
addition, the scarred flesh of his face was as much a shield to the outside
world as any he wore while training for his future post. When his brother
Gregor was knighted by Rhaegar Targaryen himself and Sandor left that day to
join the service of his liege lord, he was mocked by his peers and superiors
alike for his appearance.  As he grew tall and strong, there were fewer and
fewer who were now his equal in swordplay, so the majority of the cruel japes
were not in his presence.  But the imagined slights just out of his hearing
were even worse in his mind than those in actuality.  Sandor liked few people
and trusted none.
The younger Clegane spurned companionship during an important window of
socialization in his young life.  This allowed him to focus all his energies
into becoming the most fierce of fighters, but even with his comrades, he
seemed more likely to snarl as to smile.  Already taller than most of the grown
men, he was already intimidating to the other guards, but he was seen as
downright terrifying to any of the women in either his home in the Westerlands
or in King's Landing.  They invariably bustled past him, trying their best to
avoid interacting with the scarred young man.  In this fashion, a dog of
unwavering loyalty and extreme ferocity was formed by the Lannister mould.  He
would be nearly unequal by his peers in his fighting prowess, yet mercurial and
morose in his social proclivities.
When he heard the clamor of his fellow household guard echoing through the
training yard near the stables, his reverie was interrupted.  Through the
ribald jeers and shouts from the men came the shrieks of a young woman.  He
looked through the windows of the stables.  His thick brows first knitted into
a frown and then he uttered a low guttural growl as he saw his elder brother
Gregor, two heads taller than almost everyone in the group, walking along with
enormous strides.  Sandor unstrapped the rest of his armor until he stood in
breeches and a sweat soaked tunic before quickly and quietly stepping out
towards the training yard towards the commotion.
"What'll we do with the wench?" cried out one man.
"What else are wenches and whores good for but a good fucking?  You heard our
Lord Lannister.  We can each have this young thing," said a second.
"But who first?  Well, besides the Imp.  Who could believe that she would want
someone like him?" yelled a third, nearly doubled over in laughter.
Sandor's eyebrows shot up in surprise.  Behind a whole retinue of men wearing
the red and gold sigil was the youngest little lion man himself:  thirteen year
old Tyrion Lannister.  A fury was emanating off the stunted boy as he was being
manhandled with the rest of the rabble.
A comely girl a few years younger than Sandor was shoved out of the center of
the growing crowd of shield, spears, and swords.  She was crying as she was
being pushed along roughly by the men, dark hair framing her face in shame.
A ring of men formed around the girl and Tyrion.  For the time being, Sandor
stood off to the side, preferring to observe silently while the scene
unfolded.  After another few moments of mocking insults were flung at the pair
in the center, none other than Lord Tywin Lannister himself materialized
seemingly out of thin air and strode through the group and into the center of
the circle. He addressed the crowd as much as he spoke to the girl.
"Well, well, my dear.  It seems you have made a most grievous error with
my...son.  You see, whores do not marry Lannisters, no matter how pretty they
may be or no matter the egregious deformity in my son.  But we shall have this
annulled soon enough.  No permanent harm done, thank the gods.  We will simply
remind you and my son never to repeat this impropriety.  But a Lannister always
pays his debts, so while this is to be a lesson for both of you, let us not say
you were not rewarded for your...efforts."
The older man's mouth curled ever so slightly into a smirk as he nodded to Ser
Gregor.  The Mountain that Rides looked gargantuan compared to the young girl
as he stepped into the circle towards her.  The brutal man unceremoniously
ripped open her bodice in one swift motion, exposing her breasts.  Her eyes
wide and welling with tears, she trembled like a leaf as she tried
unsuccessfully to cover herself.  He then shoved her down to her hands and
knees into the dirt of the training yard. 
"Ser Gregor, make sure each man here may enjoy the girl.  A silver each.  But
make sure my son services his little 'wife' last and see that he pays in gold. 
A Lannister is worth more, after all.  Let's see, who to start with the
lesson?" wondered Tywin out loud as his cruel eyes panned the crowd.  Their
gaze fixed beyond the group and settled on the tall young man with the scarred
sullen face still flush with exertion.  "Ah ha, there's a good dog.  I can tell
he has been out training today in the yard instead drinking and feasting like
the rest of you lot.  He should be rewarded.  If this whore likes those with
handsome faces, the young Hound here is as good as any, I suppose."
The other men guffawed with laughter, Ser Gregor the loudest of all.  Lord
Tywin produced a pouch of coins from his surcoat and tossed them to The
Mountain.  He turned on his heel and marched away from the group.
The ring parted as all eyes turn to Sandor, who was rooted to the spot. He
could only stare at the uncovered young girl on all fours.  Tears streamed down
her face as she looked at him with horror.  Seconds passed as he fought the
urge to rush in and spirit her away from the gawking, lascivious eyes of the
men, though he knew it would be futile with as big of a group.  The men started
offering crude encouragement to Sandor, while Tyrion ground out obscenities.
"Go on, boy!  She's all yours!"
"Just don't take too long, I want a turn!"
"Ha, I doubt my baby brother here has even mounted a bitch properly!  Hard to
see why with his gorgeous face.  Must be his less than charming personality!"
laughed Ser Gregor, eyes glittering in malice.  He grabbed Sandor from the
periphery of the yard roughly by the upper arm and dragged him into the circle
in position behind her.
The men started chanting "Mount her, mount her!" in unison as the girl
continued to shake as she looked backwards up at him from the dirt pleading for
mercy.
Sandor looked around unsure of what to do.  He had never been with a woman and
they were always terrified of him, high and lowborn alike. The dark haired
young girl was a pretty young thing and the sight of her exposed torso in a
prone position did excite him despite his revulsion.  Sex was not something he
was likely to have access out of his own attributes, but he knew this was not
right. 
"Go on, little brother, when else are you going to have a chance with your
pretty face?  Or maybe I shall tell Lord Lannister that his favorite pup's
stones have yet to drop and you disobeyed him..." Gregor whispered in Sandor's
ear and stepped away to rip the girl's skirts and small clothes and roughly
kick her knees apart.  Sandor knew he had no choice, but he could not help but
bare his teeth in anger at his older brother, who laughed raucously as the
younger brother fumbled shakily with his breeches.  He spat in his palm and
took himself in hand to harden himself.
"Enough stalling!" bellowed the Mountain after a few moments had passed and
Sandor had not yet moved.
"Mount her, mount her!"
His legs trembled slightly as he pulled down his breeches to his ankles and
lowered himself to his knees behind the girl, his half hard manhood jutting out
awkwardly.  He avoided touching her with his hands for a moment, but realized
he was not sure exactly where to align himself from lack of experience.  Hands
shaking, he crouched over her. The last protest of the white knight in his soul
whispered "forgive me" in the girl's ear before figuring out where in her folds
he needed to be.
"Even the dog knows this is wrong!  He can't even do it properly!"  screamed
the little Lannister lordling.  His mismatched eyes were hellfire for Sandor as
Tyrion struggled against those who kept him back.
Hating the men, hating his loathsome brother, and hating himself most of all,
he grimaced as he entered her, still not fully erect.  The chanting reached a
fever pitch along with the hoarse screams and foul oaths of the dwarf. 
"Mount her, mount her!"
Pity for the girl gave way to anger.  If they all wanted to see the Hound, then
he would become the Hound.  His mind shut down nearly completely and his hips
started to thrust of their own accord.  He screwed his eyes shut completely and
willed himself to not hear the sobs of the girl beneath him or the chanting of
the men as he started to find a rhythm.  The Hound had silenced the sickened
chivalrous knight of his boyhood and he very quickly reached his peak.  With a
growl and then a grunt, he came.  Panting, he stayed still inside her for a
moment with the sweat from his brow dripping onto her back.  He withdrew with
another grimace as his thick white seed slid down her inner thighs. 
He rose and backed away to fasten his breeches, the cheers and jeers of the men
around him ringing in his ears as his brother flipped the ruined girl her first
piece of silver. 
Sandor Clegane was already a killer.  It was in his blood by his breeding and
proven on his sword in battle.  But now the very last of the humanity was
gone.  This was the culmination of his training, started by Gregor at age
seven.  The Hound was now complete.
***
Sandor had taken his leave immediately after.  Later that evening in the great
hall, he sat by himself at the end of a bench brooding over his food from the
feast of the presentation of the young prince.  Normally not one to drink more
than a cup or two, he had downed more than a bottle of Dornish sour.  The wine
made the Hound even more irascible than usual, but it seemed to numb the
protests of the little knight inside his dark soul.  Absorbed in his own cloud
of drunken musings, he did not initially notice the approach of the dwarf.
Tyrion's mismatched eyes locked onto his at eye level with the larger man
sitting and his liege lord's son on his short legs.  The eyes were still full
of hate.  He leaned close to the bigger man and whispered without preamble
through gritted teeth.
"A Lannister always repays his debts.  Some day, I shall repay you in kind.  I
will defile someone you hold dear and you can imagine me laughing in your face
as I do so," Tyrion paused. "If you can ever find someone to love you, that
is."
The boy spat at his feet and sauntered away.  Sandor's eyes narrowed in anger
at the threat. 
But an empty threat, he thought.  Who could ever love the Hound? 
He stood up unsteadily and instead pursuing the little lordling, walked out of
the hall to get away from the laughter and celebration in the hall.  He sighed
as he exited the castle not long before dusk.  Crickets chirped and a bird sang
cheerfully in the bushes as he shuffled back to his quarters.
Who indeed?
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