Author's Note: By request, I'm going to be uploading all of my SanSan fic to this site over the next couple of weeks. So, we're starting with the easy (read: short) ones ;) This one was written for the sansa_sandor comment fic meme on LJ.

First Published: 2nd September 2012

Warnings: mild gore

Prompt: Sansa is Queen in the North. With so many bannermen competing for her hand, she pulls a trick straight out of the songs. She announces there are but five "things" left in this world that she has a desire for. The first man smart and cunning enough to bring her even one of these (undisclosed) desires will win her hand (and the North). Many bannermen try. But in the end, it is Sandor Clegane who succeeds. And, because he doesn't do things by halves, he brings all five.

Lady Stark sat forward in her great stone seat with the wolf carvings on the arms and looked down at four of her five heart's desires. Many men had tried and failed to guess even one, and here were four: a weirwood sapling to re-plant Winterfell's fire-damaged godswood; her father's greatsword Ice, its two halves reunited and reforged into one; Petyr Baelish's tarred and severed head; and her darling brother Rickon, looking wild and disgruntled but so like her with his auburn curls and bright blue eyes it was quite striking.

"You have succeeded, ser," she confirmed, her voice ringing through the Great Hall, cutting into the tense silence. Her bannermen erupted in protest and Sansa raised her hand for quiet.

"My lady!" Lord Cerwyn objected, voice raising loud above the others. "You cannot be serious, this man is a stranger."

Sansa's eyes snapped to his with all the warmth of winter. A deadly hush fell over the hall once more. Sansa rose and bent gracefully to pick up Ice, wrapping her hand around its grip and pulling it five inches from its scabbard. Enough for the smoky blue-black steel to glint dangerously.

"I am quite serious, my lord," she replied with a sharp flicker of a smile.

Returning the sword to its place amongst the other items arrayed at her feet and re-seating herself, Sansa allowed her eyes to rest on the stranger. He was tall and cloaked all in black, his face shrouded in the shadow of a deep hood, more than a little reminiscent of the Stranger. She wondered if he had done that on purpose. It was certainly... effective.

Sansa cocked an eyebrow at him. "Only four?"

The stranger seemed to snarl low in his throat before turning suddenly, pacing away from her before returning once more, a caged animal.

"You only asked for one!" Rickon growled. "He told me that. You asked for one and he brought you four."

Sansa's eyes fell to her little brother's face, screwed up at the perceived injustice. For a moment he looked so like Arya Sansa's heart clenched.

"Yes indeed," she agreed neutrally. "Never mind. I will not go back on my word, of course. Ser, you have fulfilled my requirement and the reward is my hand in marriage." She paused. It felt sinful to enjoy herself this much. "Perhaps some other man will find my fifth and final heart's desire after we are wed."

The stranger made a queer choking sound and strode towards her. The hall was suddenly filled with the sound of a hundred swords being drawn from their scabbards, but the stranger was too quick for any of them. That will never happen again, at least, she thought distantly before he grabbed her by the arms and hauled her up until they were face to face.

"What. Is. It?" the stranger rasped, a voice like steel on stone, and Sansa smiled, slow and satisfied. She reached up and pushed back his hood. There were gasps from the nearest of her bannermen.

"A man," she murmured, stroking his cheek lightly with the backs of her fingers. "A man named Sandor Clegane."

Then she kissed him.