[A/N: R&R please! Thank you for your favorites and comments on my other stories!]
Growing up, you weren't a lovely girl (as unlike your sister as the Smith is to the Maiden), but you managed to find joy in the stables and the meadow near your family's keep (even with a curved nose and a bearlike brow). Your brothers taunted you for your love of dancing and hatred of the songs (why must a boy knight always save the maiden, Mother?), but you were still cheerful, relatively talented in the feminine arts, and from a family that had been knightly for neigh on a century.
When you learn from your father that you are to marry Ser Gregor Clegane, you are indifferent. He is better than smallfolk, you suppose, but he is no maiden with pale eyes and a soft bosom. He's been widowed, but it matters not to you (many men marry more than once, sweetling). Together, you and your mother and your sister work on a maiden's cloak with the golden longbow of your house for several fortnights. You don't worry about embroidering bedclothes or washing flannels (those have been ready for years, waiting).
On your wedding day, your mother cries and your father drinks. You wear your best undergown and tunic, and you pinch your cheeks for color. Your hair is braided, and you think of Visenya going to war.
Only then do you cry.
When you look back on your life, you will never remember your wedding night. You know it happened, for you woke up with bruises and blood (and Gods know what else on you and in you, and no, no, no...), but all you can recall is closing your eyes before your male kin joyfully threw you on the bed and keeping them tight shut until the world was quiet again.
The keep is a nightmare, and you do nothing to help this. Ser Gregor never speaks to you and you're too frightened to initiate conversation, even if it's what your mother (ladylike and soft and so far away) would have had you do. You pet the dogs that don't run away or lunge at you, and try not to feel like one of them.
One day, you feel a hand on your shoulder and a kiss on your cheek. You turn around and introduce yourself to Wenna, who is so glad to meet you. She's never there when Ser Gregor arrives (he must scare her too), but when you're in your chamber, your one maid sent away, she comes to visit and teaches you how to make a salve for your bruises.
That night you decide you love her.
Two fortnights after your wedding, Ser Gregor, as he is wont to do, enters unannounced into your chamber, but Wenna's still there (she's been staying longer and longer, and her company is almost better than being free of the keep). Wenna's always been able to tell when he's coming, and is gone before he arrives, but tonight she was teaching you a new dance, and must've lost track of time.
You hear the blade before you feel it (it sings like Wenna, high and silvery). You try to speak to warn her to run, run run, but only red heat comes out of your mouth.
Wenna is gone, and your chest is very, very warm, and Ser Gregor is speaking and looking down at you, for you've fallen, though you don't remember (you don't remember anything).
"No bloody madwoman's bearing my pups. I'd fuck you now, but the princess is waiting for me. Say hello to Rhaegar in the Seven Hells, bitch."
They'll later say it was the shock that killed you, for you'd always loved the songs.