Warnings: blatant rip-off from several fairy tales and Disney stories, breaking the fourth wall, frequent asides, run-on sentences, questionable usage of commas, futile attempts at being funny, talking wolves, swearwords, sad moments, silly moments, pointless moments, happy endings and whatnot.

Prologue

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold. Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away, but she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within.

So the prince said, "Dog, this old crone annoys me. Get her out of my sight."

The prince's sworn shield, the Hound, glanced at the old woman. She looked frail and harmless, which only confirmed his worst suspicions. Either the woman was soft in the head or she had some secret reason for showing up in the throne room as she had. Sandor remembered a story that his sister had told him, years ago, about an enchantress cursing a prince. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Are you sure?" Sandor asked. He didn't dare mentioning a nursery tale to the prince.

The prince, who wasn't genre savvy at all, didn't realize the danger he was in. "Of course I'm sure," he snapped. "I want her out of here. Not even all the roses in Highgarden would be enough compensation for having to look at her ugly face for another second."

As soon as he'd spoken, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful red-headed enchantress.

"Neat trick," the prince said, clapping slowly. "Now that you're looking hot and shaggable, I'll let you stay... in my bed," he added with a snigger. (By the way, in case this wasn't clear: he's not the protagonist of this story.)

The red enchantress raised her arms in a way that was probably meant to be dramatic, or something like that. In reality, it only showed off her boobs. "I see you're just as big a twat as everyone was saying," she exclaimed. "For your cold heart, you will be punished in the name of R'hllor!"

As she started to cast her spell, Sandor jumped in front of her and shoved the prince aside. As much as he'd always wanted to give the boy a good beating himself, Sandor didn't like the idea of getting cursed along with the rest of the castle, which seemed to be the standard protocol whenever a member of the royalty upset an enchantress. She probably would have made him fall asleep for a hundred years or turned him into a piece of furniture or something equally horrible.

Joffrey shrieked in a high-pitched voice as he stumbled off his throne and on the floor. The jet of flames from the enchantress' hands missed him and hit Sandor instead, searing the flesh of his face.

All the noise and confusion had finally attracted the attention of the other castle guards, who were rushing into the throne room. (Well, not exactly rushing. They'd figured out that it would be a poor life choice to go against an enchantress, so they were more like running calmly. Or maybe walking. Or lurking behind pillars. It wasn't as if they particularly liked Prince Joffrey anyway.)

Joffrey glared at the enchantress. "I will have revenge for this," he exclaimed, and it would have sounded a lot more impressive if he hadn't been crouching behind his throne. Then he signaled a tactical retreat, meaning that he ran for his life and the guards followed suit.

The throne room remained empty save for the enchantress and Sandor, who was still on the floor clutching at his scarred face.

"What the fuck?" he yelled as soon as he could regain control of his vocal chords. "I thought you were going to curse him. I could have died! Did you want to kill someone?"

"Yeah, that was the general idea," the enchantress replied. "You see, curses take a lot of effort, what with constant maintenance and providing magical roses and other items. R'hllor finds that burning people alive is much more cost-effective."

She gave him one last condescending look and started walking out of the throne room and, in fact, out of the story. Her job of smiting the heathens while at the same time providing an excuse for the plot was done.

"Aren't you going to cackle in an evil way and then disappear in a puff of smoke?" Sandor called after her. He felt as if fairy tales had been lying for him all of these years. He also felt as if half his face had been burned off. Also, it looked as if his prince had left him behind in his haste to get as far from the enchantress as possible.

All in all, Sandor felt he was entitled to the role of brooding tragic hero.