"It would be, if you were my Lord Commander," Sandor said, shrugging. "Turns out white's not my color." It didn't bother him to have his desertion brought up. He'd never cared for honor, or for his reputation beyond being the second most brutal man in Westeros. Even after everything going so spectacularly to shit after he'd left King's Landing, fighting Dondarrion and losing his money and being saddled with the Stark brat and the massacre at the Twins, he'd still choose it over staying in that city to serve the queen and her power-crazed son.
His eyes fell to the place where Lannister's hand should have been, then back up to the man's face. "I heard you left something at Harrenhal," he said, his own smile closer to a grimace.
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His eyes fell to the place where Lannister's hand should have been, then back up to the man's face. "I heard you left something at Harrenhal," he said, his own smile closer to a grimace.