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The mornings were the worst.
Every year the reaping fell on one of the coldest days in district ten; thick white fog curled around the windows, the three women's breath turning to ice in the freezing room.
Sansa groaned, stretching her back, before hopping off her small bed she shared with her little sister Arya. The morning were the toughest part of her day, considered Sansa. Some days the two moons were still in the sky, and all she wanted to do was sink back into her thin mattress and sleep on with her sister.
But on the morning of the Reapings, that was never an option.
Hastily dressing in a thick, worn woollen coat and thick leather boots, Sansa turned back and pulled their patched duvet closer to their mother, Catelyn. She left the slip slightly hanging off Arya.
Stepping out of the front door, Sansa breathed heavily and looked around the square her house resided in. There were only a few residents up and already bartering, but it wouldn't be long till the whole of district ten was up. Not on this day of the year.
"Mornin', Sansa!" a woodswitch by the name of Sae hobbled along, leaning heavily on a chipped wooden stick.
"I could look for another stick for you, Sae." Sansa smiled, pulling her coat more tightly.
Sae simply smiled, and walked on. "You best go lookin' for some more flowers for your meal, dearie. 'eavens knows you kiddies have enough to be worryin' about today of all days."
The brief mention of the Reaping was enough to have Sansa hurrying on her way like a squirrel; rushing around a corner, she stumbled over her feet, falling into a stranger.
"Oh, I'm so sorry sir-Oh!" Sansa squeaked, craning her neck to look at Gregor Clegane. She scrambled away from the monster of a man, who growled at her. The hard concrete ground trembled beneath his feet as he rushed towards her, before a shadow fell over Sansa's limp form.
"Get back to the Bakery ya' stupid arse," a rough voice spoke. Only a slight shake in it betrayed the owner's fear.
Gregor rumbled low and deep. "You'll pay for that, little brother."
With that, his hulking great form turned away leaving Sansa to her saviour. There stood Sandor Clegane, his great form shielding her. He roughly grabbed her armpits, heaving Sansa to her feet. By this time, a slight crowd had gathered around the scene.
"What are you all starin' at? Fuck off!" Sandor cursed, the crowd melting away like the dew on morning grass.
"Thank you, Sir." Sansa looked Sandor in his good eye, refusing to let her blue orbs settle on his injured side. Everyone knew the story of Sandor's burns; one thundery morning five years ago, Sandor had accidently burned some of his family's precious bread. Instead of Gregor slapping Sandor over the head, the brute simply laid his brother's face over the scorching coals in the oven. Only Sansa and the boy himself knew that Sandor burned the bread for the young girl, who had laid limp by the tree in her starvation. It had only been a few months after her father's death, and Sansa simply couldn't stand the weak cry of Rickon's hunger any longer.
"I ain't no sir."
"You are to me." Sansa whispered quietly, making her friend chuckle.
"Aye, if you say so, little bird. See you at the reaping." With that, he patted something into Sansa's small hand and strode back to his bakery.
Sansa opened her fist, to find a small chunk of banana bread, warm and crumbling.
The small rip in the fence was Sansa's best friend in these pressing times. Curling her small arm underneath the metal, she grabbed a handful of dry grass and added it to her tiny pile of katniss and blackberries. It wouldn't be a very fulfilling breakfast, but it was something.
The door to her small house swung open easily, to reveal Catleyn calmly brushing Arya's scruffy mop of brown hair as she fidgeted and groaned. At the sight of Sansa's arms filled with vegetation, she whooped and strode to the cupboard, loudly pulling out three tin plates. Catelyn smiled, and seated herself at the small wooden table.
"Well done, darling." At her mother's praise Sansa felt herself glowing. It reminded her of the times before her father's death, when herself and her mother could sit for hours sewing, watching the fire dance in the grate. Sansa had been forced to sell the sewing kit for shoes for Arya.
The sister scoffed, before helping herself to some blackberries. "All she did was harvest some plants. You shoulda' let me come with you, I would have caught a big fat duck." Sansa simply smiled, and ran her hand over the banana bread tucked in her skirt pockets.
"I have a treat, for when the Reaping's over." At the mention of it both her family members froze, food dangling off of Catelyn's fork.
Since her father Ned's death in the coal mines, and later little Bran and Rickon, treats had been a scarce commodity in the small house. Catelyn had stayed virtually catatonic since then, and it was only in the past few months her mother had returned to a fragile shell of the person she once was. It was only for Sansa that Arya had decided to talk to her mother that morning. Her younger sister detested her mother for leaving the two young children to fend for themselves after their father's passing, thinking her weak and unworthy for the name Stark she had married into.
It was in the last year that Arya had started to talk to Sansa again, too. Although Sansa loved and protected her sister with all her heart, the duo fought like cat and dog, and more than once Arya had strode out of the shack vowing to return to the Capitol, only to be returned a few hours later by Greasy Sae, looking muddy and furious.
As the bell in the square rang twice to signal for district ten to start dressing, Sansa and Arya walked to the other room in their small house to change.
"I hate the Reaping." Arya suddenly burst out, as Sansa tried to tuck her sister's shirt in the skirt in vain.
"Mind your tongue, Arya." Sansa looked around, wildly, for any sign of a camera zooming in on the siblings.
"You're such a-" Sansa's soft breath tickled Arya's neck as she whispered, forcing the twelve year old to quieten down.
"Now then," Catelyn walked in the room briskly, plumping a thin pillow, "Arya, remember to do and go where your sister tells you. As you only have one slip, you'll be fine, and don't bring any attention to yourself. Sansa, dear, good luck." The elder sibling had had her name entered twenty times, this year; although she considered the tesserae to be worth it.
Arya showed no signs of having heard their mother as she bent down to stroke the ugly pet cat of Sansa's named Lady. Sansa sighed at her, before looking out the window to check on their goat, Needle. A birthday present of Arya's, the animal was proving at stubborn as her owner and refused to produce any milk that Sansa could sell.
"Let's go," their mother murmured, briefly clutching at both her daughter's hands.
The square was packed by the time Sansa and Arya had settled in their age groups. Albeit Arya hissing at the peace keepers when her blood was taken, the event had so far gone off without a hitch, and Sansa relaxed slightly in her long blue dress. Her auburn hair fluttered in the confines of her braid as she looked about.
A little way off stood her friends Madge and Jeyne Undersee, both conversing urgently. The twins looked elegant in matching white dresses. She noticed Sandor slouching in his eighteen year group, his dirty white sleeves rolled up and one brace hanging around his hip. He noticed Sansa looking at him, and smirked, sending the younger girl blushing.
The stage and screen suddenly lit up.
"Helloooo, District tennnnn!" Lynesse Hightower's drawling capitol accent echoed around the square, sending winces through the audience.
"Welcomeeee to the seventy fourth annual Hunger Gamessss!" one person clapped hesitantly,
The only surviving mentor of District ten, Tyrion Abernathy, hopped drunkenly up the stairs, before clutching at Hightower's legs, laddering her acid green tights. She gently kicked the dwarf off, before he settled down, swaying in his official chair next to the embarrassed Mayor.
"The one thing," drunkenly hiccoughed Tyrion, "Better than being the god of tits and wine, is a GOOD STAGE ENTRANCE!" He promptly vomited on the side of the stage, before snoring in his plush chair.
The tension was mounting. As the official propaganda video reels started to roll, Sansa focused on breathing. In the two bowls by on either side of the stage, twenty slips had her name on them. Twenty.
"Back in the Dark Days, when Targaryens and the twelve districts ruled and enslaved the gentle country of Westeros..."
One two three, Sansa. Count. Four five six.
"Seventy five years ago, the great Capitol overthrow the terrible reign, and a sign of peace, the twelve districts agreed to..."
Ten eleven twelve thirteen oh god oh god oh god-
She hadn't noticed the film ending, and the two balls being wheeled closer to Lynesse. One of her large yellow eyelashes was starting to peel off.
"Gentlemen first, for a changeee!" She rummaged around in the great glass ball, white powder falling from every exaggerated movement of her face, until her scrawny claws clasped around a name.
"Sandor Clegane!" the only sound in the silent district was Gregor's hoarse laughing as his brother clumped up the stairs to shake the Mayor's hand.
As Sansa's bright blue eyes filled with tears for the kind and gentle man she barely knew, she was only half listening to Lynesse foraging for a girl's name.
"Arya Stark!"